IRLF 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


HEIRS  OF  YESTERDAY 


Heirs  of  Yesterday 


EMMA  WOLF 

AUTHOR  OF  "OTHER  THINGS  BEING  EQUAL,"  "THE  JOY  OF  LIFE, 
"A  PRODIGAL  IN  LOVE,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1901 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

A.   D.    IQOO 


For  something  larger  had  come  into  his  life,  a 
sense  of  a  vaster  universe  without,  and  its  spacious 
ness  and  strangeness  filled  his  soul  with  a  nameless 
trouble  and  a  vague  unrest.  He  was  no  longer  a 
child  of  the  Ghetto. — ZANGWILL. 


M565703 


FOKEWOKD 

The  tide  of  social  culture  sweeps  literally 
upward  with  the  grade  in  San  Francisco,  dropping 
inadequacies  on  the  way.  The  tide  of  Jewish  social 
culture  runs  its  mimic  parallel  alongside  of  it, 
mounting  hill  for  hill,  matching  inadequacy  with 
inadequacy.  Yet  science  proves  that,  this  side 
infinity,  parallels  never  meet. 

And  thereby  hangs  the  comedy. 

"If  it  takes  six  generations  from  the  hod,  or 
pick  and  shovel,  to  make  a  gentleman  of  an  ordi 
nary  American,"  asked  the  wag,  "  how  many  gen 
erations  from  the  Ghetto  does  it  take  to  make  a 
gentleman  of  a  Jew?  " 

"Bah! "  said  Philip  May,  contemptuously, 
"what  have  I  to  do  with  Ghettoes! " 

And  thereby  also  hangs  the  comedy,  or — what 
you  will — according  to  your  light. 


CHAPTEK  I 

At  sunset  of  a  certain  exquisite  day  toward  the 
close  of  February,  a  young  girl  might  have  been 
seen  making  her  way  westward  along  Pacific 
avenue.  She  walked  swiftly,  lightly,  the  joyous 
wind  of  motion  in  her  going.  The  waning  after 
noon  was  warm,  and  she  had  slipped  off  her  jacket, 
carrying  it  under  her  arm,  her  slender  shirt-waisted 
figure  seeming  to  enjoy  the  freedom.  The  breath 
of  violets  was  in  the  air,  a  marvelous  sky  of  tender 
rose-shot  gold  before  her — the  spirit  of  the  beauty 
of  the  hour  had  passed  into  her  face. 

In  the  serene  light  the  houses  rose,  now  stately, 
now  picturesque,  among  velvety  lawns  and  palms 
and  rose-trees,  here  and  there  a  red-stone  mansion 
showing  vivid  and  princely  among  the  gen 
eral  scheme  of  perishable  wooden  architecture. 
Glimpses  of  the  lovely  island-dotted,  hill-encircled 
bay  smiled  up  to  her  as  she  passed  the  corners  along 
the  heights.  She  was  in  the  midst  of  the  fairest 
residence  environs  of  the  town. 

Turning  southward,  she  came  abruptly  upon 
two  unpretentious  little  houses  standing  snugly 
together  near  the  corner. 


10          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

She  ran  up  the  steps  of  the  nearer  and  rang  the 
bell,  scarcely  conscious  that  she  was  happily  hum 
ming  a  song  while  she  waited. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  buxom,  clean-aproned 
Irishwoman. 

"  Well,  Katie,"  asked  the  girl,  entering  quickly, 
"how  is  everything  getting  along?  Has  any  one 
been  near  the  table  since  I  left?"  She  did  not 
pause;  she  moved  as  she  spoke  toward  the  dining- 
room. 

"  There  it  is,  Miss  Jean,  beautiful  as  a  picter, 
same  as  you  left  it.  What  would  the  likes  of  my 
clumsy  hands  have  to  do  wid  anything  you  touches? 
And  there's  nobody  else." 

"  And  the  kitchen,  Katie?" 

"  Come  and  take  a  smell." 

She  tripped  after  her  into  the  shining  room 
steaming  with  importance  and  good  savors. 

"It  smells  like — like  your  kitchen,  and  that 
means  it  makes  me  hungry,"  the  girl  assured  her, 
critically  approving. 

"  Ah,  go  long  wid  the  blarney  eyes  and  tongue 
of  you,"  laughed  the  privileged  old  cook  and  house 
keeper,  in  pleased  excitement.  "  Who  wouldn't 
have  the  best  dinner  in  the  land  when  her  boy  as 
was  her  baby  is  coming  home  to-night  after  ten 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  11 

long,  lonesome  years  widout  a  sight  of  him.  Laws, 
Miss  Jean!  when  Mr.  Mays  stood  and  looked  at 
that  table  two  hours  ago,  his  hands  just  trembled 
wid  joy,  even  if  his  face  did  look  like  it  did  the  day 
poor  young  Madame  Mays  died,  and  he  sat  and 
shivered  for  her." 

"  Sat  and  what,  Katie?  " 

"Shivered.  That's  what  all  them  old  Jews  does 
when  some  one  dies  as  is  dear  to  'em.  Leastways 
that's  what  your  own  poor  mother  says  to  me  when 
I  see  him  sitting  on  a  footstool  and  wanted  to  give 
the  poor  dear  man  a  comfortable  chair  wid  a  back. 
'  Let  him  alone,  Katie,'  says  she.  '  He  has  to  sit 
low  and  shiver,'  says  she.  '  It's  the  Jewish  cus 
tom.'  " 

The  girl's  laugh  rang  out  unrestrainedly. 

"  For  shame,  Miss  Jean,  to  laugh  over  a  poor 
young  thing's  death;  and  she  just  a  mother," 
reproved  the  old  woman,  in  shocked  solemnity. 

The  laugh  died  lingeringly  on  Jean's  lips.  "  I 
was  not  laughing  at  what  you  said,  Katie,"  she 
explained,  with  a  vanishing  ripple  of  mirth;  "it 
was  the  way  you  said  it.  Probably  my  mother  said 
he  was  sitting  Shivah  for  her,  which  is — " 

"  It's  haythen  English,  then.  Well,  Miss  Jean, 
all  I  hope  is  that  Phily'll  like  his  dinner," 


12          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Dr.  May  now,  Katie.  Remember  he's  a  grown 
man  past  thirty,  and  a  physician  besides.  Of 
course  he'll  like  his  old  Katie's  dinner.  Did  you 
say  Mr.  May  is  at  home  ?  " 

"  Home  and  dressed  these  two  hours.  He's  in 
the  sitting-room  waiting/' 

The  girl  slipped  out,  tiptoed  softly  through  the 
hall,  knocked  gently,  and  then  immediately  opened 
the  door  in  furtive,  mischievous  noiselessness. 

Joseph  May  stood  before  the  glass,  absorbed  in 
his  own  reflection.  His  deep-set  eyes  looked  out 
from  the  brown,  furrowed  face  set  in  its  framework 
of  grizzled  hair  and  beard,  taking  stock  of  the  over 
hanging  brow,  the  long,  thick  nose,  the  straight, 
close-set  lips — the  upper  one  shaven;  his  eyes  meas 
ured  the  thick-set,  stooping  figure,  slightly  below 
medium  height.  An  eager  anxiety  dominated  the 
whole  attitude  and  aspect  of  the  man. 

"  Oh,  vanity  of  vanities,"  murmured  the  girl, 
her  hand  still  upon  the  door-knob.  "  Vanity  of 
vanities,  Uncle  Joseph!  "  She  shook  her  head  in 
tender  mockery  at  him  as  he  veered  around. 

He  laughed  sheepishly  up  into  the  dancing  light 
of  her  dark  gray  eyes.  "  Well,  Jean,"  he  returned, 
with  a  helpless  shrug,  his  palms  turned  upward  and 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  13 

outward,  "  what  can  a  man  do  when  he  is  such  a 
dood  like  me?" 

"  Dude!  I  should  think  you  are  a  dude.  Come 
here  and  turn  around,  sir,  and  let  me  admire  you." 

He  revolved  in  slow,  solemn  delight  under  her 
hand  placed  lightly  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  a  man's  making  such  a 
beauty  of  himself  just  for  another  man,"  she 
observed,  severely.  "And  a  man  of  your  years, 
too! " 

"Then  you  think  I  will  do,  Jean?"  he  asked, 
in  serious  anxiety.  "  You  think  he  won't  be 
ashamed  from  his  old  father? "  The  man, 
although  an  American  citizen  of  more  than  forty 
years  standing,  spoke  with  a  marked  foreign 
accent,  composite  of  Jewish  and  German. 

"  I  wouldn't  give  a  penny  for  his  taste  if  he 
were,"  she  returned,  with  a  loyal  uplift  of  her  head, 
"  even  if  you  do  think  he's  the  Grand  Mogul  in 
person." 

"  Chutspah  ponim!"  murmured  Joseph,  lov 
ingly.  "  Chutspah  ponim — as  if  you  don't  know 
he  is  yourself! " 

The  girl's  alert  senses — more  alert  than  usual 
this  evening — winced  secretly  under  the  familiar 
jargon. 


14          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Old  man,"  she  said,  gently,  argumentatively, 
"  do  you  happen  to  have  a  picture  of  a  certain 
illustrious  young  surgeon  about  you?  If  you  do, 
we  might  settle  that  point  at  once  and  for  always." 

He  clapped  his  hand  to  his  breast-pocket,  a  look 
of  comical  surprise  crossing  his  face  as  he  felt  its 
emptiness. 

"  So  you've  forgotten  it  at  last,"  she  laughed. 
"  How  your  friends  will  miss  it!  There,  don't  mind 
my  teasing,  Uncle  Joseph — you  will  have  the 
original  with  you  in  just  about  an  hour  or  two, 
and  can  pilot  the  man  himself  around  to  your  old 
cronies.  Now  sit  down  in  that  easy-chair  so  as  not 
to  disarrange  your  beauteous  attire  before  the 
grand  moment  arrives.  And  remember,  dear,  you 
are  not  to  get  excited.  You  know  Dr.  Thall- 
man — " 

:( Yes,  yes,  I  know,  Jean — I  got  my  son  to  live 
for  now.  See  how  quiet  I  am."  He  held  up  a 
trembling  hand. 

She  stooped  impulsively,  pressing  her  lips  to  his 
bald  forehead. 

"  I'm  going  home  now,"  she  said,  moving  toward 
the  door.  "  Greet  the  prodigal  for  me — without 
words." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  15 

"  To-morrow  night  you  and  Daniel,"  he  called 
huskily  after  her. 

"  Uncle  Daniel,  surely,"  she  replied,  turning 
back.  "  And,  Uncle  Joseph!  " 

"Yes,  dear  child?" 

"  Please  don't  take  two  plates  of  soup!  " 

He  chuckled  softly  after  her  entreating  voice 
and  retreating  figure. 

Shadows  gathered  in  the  quiet  room.  The  old 
man  sat  motionless  in  his  great  chair 

"  I  tell  you,  boys,  she's  a  bonanza  for  one  of  you. 
A  little  princess,  junge,  mit  hair  what  comes  most 
to  the  floor  down!  " 

Out  of  what  dim  corner  of  his  brain  had  the 
words  sprung? — words  scarcely  noticed  when 
spoken  almost  forty  years  before.  Was  it  the  sug 
gestion  of  Jean  Willard's  creamy  girl-face  with  its 
shadowy  eyes  and  her  mass  of  shadowy  dark  hair? 
Was  it  the  spirit-presence  of  one  whose  memory 
never  left  him  in  such  silent  moments  as  this? 
Was  it  the  strange  joy  of  calling  her  son — scarce 
known,  grown  to  a  man — his  son?  Was  it — .  He 
lost  the  links  of  thought. 

He  was  back  again  in  the  office  behind  Simon 


16          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

Alexander's  store,  one  of  "  the  boys "  crowded 
round  the  glowing  stove,  and  Simon  Alexander 
himself  was  making  the  announcement  which 
caused  them  all  to  start  with  openly  expressed 
interest  over  the  pleasing  thought  that  another  fair 
young  girl  was  coming  into  their  rough  lives. 

That  was  the  night  young  Goldschmitt,  without 
an  English  word  in  his  vocabulary  or  a  cent  in  his 
pocket,  had  come  staggering  in,  his  pack  on  his 
back,  and  demanded  explanation  of  the  cruel  treat 
ment  he  had  received  from  the  women  he  had 
approached  with  his  wares.  Whereupon  they 
discovered  that  a  certain  wit,  one  Samuel  Weiss  by 
name,  had  written  for  the  ignorant  emigrant  a  list 
of  questions  to  be  asked,  each  one  prefaced  with 
a  dainty  oath,  such  as,  "  Dam  you,  lady,  here's  a 
dimity  that  will  make  your  eyes  water!  " 

Young  Goldschmitt  wept  tears  of  boyish  grief 
over  the  unfolding,  the  others  swore  mysterious 
vengeance  on  the  witless  wit,  and  while  Daniel 
Willard,  the  scribe,  sat  quietly  down  and  wrote 
up  an  elegant  text  for  the  sale  of  his  textures — 
"just  like  a  book — just  like  a  book,"  they  all 
agreed — Charlie  Stein  trolled  out : 

"  With  a  stone  for  a  pillow  and  a  sky  for  a  sheet, 
Oh,  a  peddler's  life,  my  dear  ones,  is  a  hard  one  to  beat." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  17 

To  the  truth  of  which  sentiment  several  of  those 
present  could  offer  personal  testimony. 

But  they  were  all  chafing  to  get  up  and  away 
to  the  home  old  Arnheim  had  prepared  for  his 
wife  and  daughter  just  arrived  on  the  steamer 
from  New  Orleans,  and  when  Simon,  who  gave 
all  "  the  boys  "  wide  credit — which  bore  wider 
interest — had  made  a  bed  for  poor  Goldschmitt  on 
the  counter — for  they  were  no  sybarites  in  those 
days — they  started  in  a  body  out  into  the  raw  night 
air. 

He  remembered  their  passing  the  historic  gam 
bling  palace  at  the  corner  of  Washington  and  Kear 
ney  streets,  ablaze  with  lights,  radiant  with  luxury 
and  vice,  glorious,  sensuous  music  floating  out 
above  the  noise  of  jingling  gold,  above  the  tragic 
shot  of  a  pistol,  above  the  monotonous  cry  of  the 
croupier — a  Frenchwoman  this  night — chanting 
persuasively,  "  Make-a  your  bets,  gentlemans — 
gentlemans,  make-a  your  bets."  Some  one  was  for 
stopping,  but  Daniel  said,  sternly,  "  Boys,  that  is 
hell."  Yet  a  moment  later,  when  they  reached 
Arnheim's  house,  the  young  Frenchman  lifted  his 
hat,  and  said,  half  quizzically,  half  reverentially, 
"  But  now,  boys,  we  go  to  heaven." 

So  they  went  to  heaven  through  a  pair  of  brown 


18          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

eyes,  and  many  there  were  who  gazed  through 
thereat.  And  the  way  was  long  and  sweet  to 
Joseph  May. 

He  remembered  the  night  before  the  Eureka 
ball,  when,  after  a  long,  silent  walk  under  the 
stars  with  Daniel,  his  beloved  friend,  he  had  said, 
suddenly,  "  Daniel,  when  you  have  no  objection, 
to-morrow  night  at  the  ball,  I  will  ask  Jeannette 
Arnheim  to  marry  me."  Such  was  Joseph's  way, 
short  and  direct.  And  Daniel,  after  a  moment, 
had  said,  tenderly,  "  if  it  is  for  your  happiness, 
Joseph,  and  for  hers,  what  objections  can  I,  a  poor 
occasional  journalist,  have  to  offer?  " 

And  the  next  night — at  that  ball,  whither  she 
had  gone  witli  him  in  her  simple,  unadorned  white 
silk  gown  cut  low  in  the  neck,  a  string  of  pearl 
beads  around  her  lovely  throat,  her  hands  in  small 
white  silk  gloves  drawn  tight  with  a  dangling  tas 
sel — at  that  memorable  Eureka  ball,  with  all  the 
boys  fighting  for  a  dance  with  her,  he,  Joseph 
May,  the  quietest  of  them  all,  had  asked  her  for 
her  hand — and  won  it. 

And  behold  there  was  light  divine  for  the  quiet 
man  on  that  long-ag.  wedding  day,  when  all  the 
boys  had  kissed  the  bride — except  Daniel  Willard, 
who  had  only  kissed  her  hand — and  they  had  gone 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY          19 

away  to  live  happily  together  forever  after.  For 
ever  after — 

She  brought  success  with  her — everything  he 
touched  prospered.  But  five  years  passed  before 
the  promise  of  the  long-awaited  little  one  came  to 
them,  bringing  with  his  glory — 

Nay,  why  this  mist  of  tears?  Their  plans? 
Had  he  not  executed  them — without  her?  Had 
not  the  long  empty  years — 

"  My  dear  father/'  broke  in  Philip  May's  virile 
voice,  "  I  am  glad  to  be  with  you  again." 

The  next  minute  the  room  was  flooded  with 
light,  while,  through  mist-blinded  eyes,  the  little 
old  Jew  felt  his  hand  caught  in  a  powerful  grip,  and 
looked  up  at  his  son's  broad-shouldered  manhood. 


CHAPTER  II 

As  he  followed  his  father  into  the  dining-room, 
the  wheel  of  time  seemed  to  Philip  May  to  leap 
back  to  the  starting-point  of  memory.  The  past 
fifteen  years,  which  had  plunged  him  far  beyond 
on  the  sea  of  life  and  thought,  slipped  from  him 
and  left  him  stranded  on  a  shore  which  alone,  in 
all  the  moving  flux  of  things,  seemed  to  have  stood 
still.  How  much  of  this  sensation  was  due  to  out 
ward  fact — the  old-fashioned  familiar  furniture, 
the  ancient  Sabbath  lamp — an  heirloom — burning 
this  Friday  night  with  accustomed  holy  brilliancy, 
the  square-set  old  man  himself,  whose  hoar- 
touched  hair  and  beard  but  faintly  suggested  the 
silent  passage  of  the  years — he  did  not  consider. 
He  felt  a  sudden  mental  stooping,  a  bending  to  the 
cavern  of  a  childhood  which  had  been  covered  over, 
almost  forgotten  in  the  background  of  his  experi 
ence. 

From  the  farther  doorway,  Katie,  the  faithful 
housemaid,  his  quondam  nurse,  radiant,  rosy,  and 
rejoicing,  courtesied  to  them  as  they  entered. 

20 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  21 

His  scrutinizing  eyes  fell  instantly  upon  her, 
and  with  a  flash  of  recognition  of  a  different  nature, 
he  went  toward  her  with  hands  outstretched. 

"  Well,  Katie,"  he  said,  "  do  you  recognize  the 
old  plague  of  your  life?" 

Covered  with  confusion  over  the  mastery  of  his 
voice  and  personality,  she  laid  a  rough,  trembling 
hand  in  his,  all  the  contemplated  welcome  of 
ecstatic  words  and  embracing  arms  shrinking 
shamefacedly  out  of  the  back-door. 

"  Thankee,  Mr.  Philip,"  she  stammered.  «  I'm 
very  well,  thankee.  You've  growed  some,  sir,  but 
I'd  'a'  knowed  you  was  Phily  anywhere." 

His  laugh  rang  out  heartily  as  he  pressed  her 
hand  between  both  his.  The  lingering  laugh 
startled  the  old  woman — it  was  as  an  echo  of  some 
thing  loved  and  lost.  When  she  returned  to  her 
kitchen  two  unaccountable  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  Shall  I  take  my  old  place?  "  he  asked,  stand 
ing  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"  For  sure,  Philip,  for  sure,"  said  Joseph,  vainly 
endeavoring  to  keep  the  army  of  overpowering  emo 
tions  from  his  voice  and  limbs.  In  the  church  of 
the  old  man's  soul  there  was  an  intoning  of  prayer 
and  thanksgiving,  the  while  he  ladled  soup — the 


22          HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

while  the  dominant  face  opposite  was  engraving 
itself  upon  his  intoxicated  senses.  It  was  a  strong, 
intent  face  rather  than  a  handsome  one — a  face 
with  little  room  in  it  for  frivolity,  its  very  reticence 
proclaiming  that  strength,  or  narrowness,  of  pur 
pose  which  bespeaks  "  business  ahead."  True,  the 
brow,  broad  and  thoughtful,  beneath  the  wave  of 
thick  dark  hair,  might  have  belonged  to  an  artist, 
a  dreamer,  but  whatever  the  temperament  of  hered 
ity  it  bespoke,  the  suggestion  was  overpowered  by 
the  doggedness  of  will  of  the  individual  as  evi 
denced  in  the  cool,  discriminating  hazel  eyes  and 
assertive  mouth  and  jaw. 

"  It's  hard  to  realize  that  so  many  years  have 
passed  since  we  dined  together,"  the  younger  man 
observed,  picking  up  his  napkin,  grimly  amused 
over  a  mellowing  representation  of  Moses  with  the 
Decalogue  benignly  regarding  him  from  the  op 
posite  wall.  "I  don't  know  whether  it  is  a  trick 
of  the  gods,"  he  continued,  lightly,  "  or  of  Katie's 
unrivaled  soup,  but  I'm  inclined  to  think  I  have 
never  been  away." 

"  I  can  tell  you  how  long.  You  were  away- 
leaving  out  vacations — just  fifteen  years,  three 
months,  twenty-three  days  and  one-half." 

The  ghost  of  a  frown  gathered  into  the  doctor's 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  23 

quiet  regard.  "  Perhaps,"  he  began,  in  the  tran 
quil,  sonorous  voice  which  most  of  all  seemed  to 
measure  an  insurmountable  distance  between 
them,  "  perhaps  I  staid  too  long.  My  duty,  I 
know — " 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  father,  eagerly,  apolo 
getically.  "  It  was  just  like  it  should  be.  When 
you  asked,  didn't  I  say  yes?  Didn't  I  tell  you  I 
want  you  shall  know  everything  money  can  buy 
when  it  will  make  you  a  better  doctor — and  a  more 
happier?  And  besides,  there  was  your  friend — 
your  poor  sick  friend." 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  could  not  leave  him.  So  I  told  to 
all  who  said,  (  But  why  he  don't  come  home  to  his 
father — maybe  he,  too,  needs  him.'  Didn't  I  al 
ways  say  to  Daniel  and  Jean,  '  Is  it  not  fine  a  man 
shall  stay  by  his  friend  so  long  he  wants  him?' '; 

Philip  protested  swiftly  with  his  hand.  "  Who 
is  Jean?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"Jean?  Oh,  you  don't  know  who  is  Jean," 
laughed  the  old  man,  delightedly,  as  though  upon 
familiar  ground.  "  Well,  you  will  know  her 
soon — to-morrow  night.  You  see,  I  said  to  Daniel, 
'You  and  Jean  and  Philip  and  me  will  have  a 
nice  little  dinner  together,  and  while  we  have  a 


24  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

little  game,  the  children  can  make  a  little  music 
and  get  acquainted.'  And  Jean  says,  '  But,  Uncle 
Joseph  ' — she  calls  me  Uncle  Joseph  for  short,  be 
cause  I  too  am  short— '  who  do  you  think  this  Dr. 
Philip  May  is  that  Jean  Willard  should  come  to 
call  on  him?'  And  then  she  goes  on,  '  Now  don't 
tell  me  he  is  a  prince — all  the  young  Jews  are 
princes  to  the  old  ones — tell  me  what  he  is,  if  you 
can.'  But  she  don't  mean  one  word — she's  just  a 
little  lachachlis  ponim — you  know  what  that  means? 
No?  It  means  mischief -faced  one — one  who  says 
things  just  out  of  spite.  Oh,  by'm-bye  you'll  learn 
Yiddish  all  over  again  when  you  stay  long  with  me. 
But  you  don't  know  who  is  Jean — .  Wait.  Will 
you  take  some  more  of  Katie's  good  soup?  " 

"It  is  good,"  Philip  acquiesced,  cordially. 
"  But  I  always  limit  myself  to  one  plate." 

"  Just  like  Jean.  She  always  makes  fun  of  me. 
Why?  Is  it  more  healthy?  But  when  I  learn  you 
to  speak  Yiddish  you  will  learn  me  what  I  must  not 
eat.  Of  course  Dr.  Thallman  is  a  fine  doctor,  but 
now  when  I  have  a  doctor  in  the  family,  he  don't 
expect  I  will  stay  by  him,  I  guess.  Well,  I  will  ring 
so  Katie  takes  the  plates  out.  You  must  not  laugh 
when  I  make  mistakes — I  have  seldom  company 
for  dinner — only  Daniel  and  Jean  sometimes,  and 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY          25 

then  Jean  does  it  all,  and  all  me  and  Daniel  has 
to  do  is  to  eat.  But  Jean  knows  better  how  it 
shall  be  done.  To-night  she  wanted  to  order 
oysters  and  frogs  and — ich  weiss  viel;  but  I  said  to 
her,  'No,  Jean,  better  we  have  a  good  old-time 
dinner  so  Philip  feels  more  to  home :  a  good  noodle 
soup — ' "  here  he  began  to  intone  like  a  cantor — 
"  fish  a  la  Yitt,  like  Daniel  calls  it,  some  nice  green 
peas  and  fried  potatoes,  a  fine  young  roast  duck,  and 
salad — and  for  dessert,  well,  I  compromised  with 
her  on  a  frozen  something — but  with  coffee  and 
cigars,  I  guess  you'll  pull  through,  hey,  Philip?  " 

It  was  a  long  speech  for  Joseph  May  to  make, 
but  the  excitement  and  happiness  of  this  long- 
anticipated,  intimate  moment  had  loosened  the 
reserve  of  half  a  lifetime. 

"  It  could  not  suit  me  better,"  returned  Philip, 
the  edge  of  his  fine  teeth  showing  in  a  suspicion  of 
a  smile,  as  he  gave  his  attention  to  the  fish.  "  But 
who  is  this  oracle  of  your  manners  and  menus? 
Who  is  Jean?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Joseph  seriously,  holding 
up  his  fork  in  one  hand  and  a  bit  of  bread  in  the 
other.  "  Help  yourself  to  wine,  Philip — Thallman 
says  I  mustn't — I  can  guarantee  you  can  get  no 
better  Sauterne  nowhere — 1  paid  a  big  price  the 


26          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

case  for  it,  years  ago.  Good?  I  knew  you  would 
like  it.  "Well,  what  I  was  telling  you?  Oh,  yes, 
about  Jean.  Jean  is  the  chile  of  Daniel's  brother 
David,  who  lived  in  Los  Angeles.  Well,  his  wife 
died  long  before  him,  and  when  David  died — now 
about  ten  years  ago — there  was  no  one  to  look  after 
the  little  girl,  who  was  about  fourteen  years,  except 
an  old  aunt  in  New  York.  So  Daniel  conies  to 
me — he  always  asks  me  what  he  shall  do  when  it  is 
business,  just  like  I  always  ask  him  when  it  ain't 
business — and  he  says,  '  Joseph,  you  think  I  am 
good  enough  to  take  care  of  that  young  girl  ?'  And 
I  said,  i  And  when  she  was  a  young  angel,  and 
when  she  was  a  young  devil,  there  is  no  one  who 
can  better  take  care  of  her  as  you/  So  Daniel  went 
down  and  brought  her  up,  and  when  once  you  see 
her,  Philip — .  Well,  I  won't  say  no  more  about 
it  now.  You  know  I  bought  these  two  houses  for 
an  investment,  account  the  view  and  location,  but 
when  Daniel  brought  the  chile  to  the  city  he  wanted 
to  keep  house,  so  I  thought  why  not  rent  one  to 
Daniel  and  keep  one  for  myself,  for  when  Philip 
comes  home?  And  so  you  have  it.  x\nd  about 
Jean,  there  is  not  much  to  say.  Only  she  looks 
after  her  two  old  men — like  she  calls  us — and  she 
says  she  has  her  hands  full.  All  I  know  is  she 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  27 

leads  Daniel  and  me  round  by  the  nose  and, 
schtiegen!  I'll  tell  you  something — we  make 
believe  we  don't  know  it — because  we  like  it! " 

As  he  glowed  and  expanded,  enumerating  all  his 
homely  loves  under  the  pleasantly  interested  gaze 
of  his  son,  it  seemed  to  Joseph  May — to  his  own 
surprise — that,  despite  the  strong  grief  of  his 
youth,  life  still  held  in  reserve  for  him  a  bright 
spot  into  which  he  was  now  entering.  And  so, 
while  they  ate  the  savory  dishes  and  drank  the 
golden  wine,  he  drew  nearer  the  knowledge  of  his 
son,  telling,  with  his  unconquerable  Jewish  rhythm 
and  accent,  in  quaint  choice  of  English,  now  quite 
correct,  now  ridiculously  faulty,  occasionally  mixed 
with  the  Yiddish  jargon — the  story  of  his  simple 
life :  the  few  hours  passed  in  the  downtown  office, 
his  fingers  ever  on  the  realty  and  stock  market, 
with  Daniel  for  his  amanuensis;  the  sunny  after 
noons  when  he  and  Daniel  would  take  the  car  and 
ride  to  the  Park,  where,  sitting  among  the  trees 
and  flowers,  they  reviewed  past  and  present  through 
the  medium  of  a  good  cigar;  of  the  rainy  or  foggy 
evenings  when  Daniel  or  he  would  step  across  the 
connecting  porch  at  the  back  and  pass  an  hour  or 
two  together  over  a  little  game  of  picquet. 

"  And  sometimes  we  go  to  the  the-ay-ter,"  he 


28          HEIKS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

i 

concluded,  with  an  air  of  reminiscent  joy.  "  Gen 
erally  Jean  gets  the  tickets  for  us,  because  she 
knows  the  good  places  and  what  Daniel  and  me 
will  like.  Daniel,  he  likes  somethings  sometimes 
what  I  wouldn't  like,  so  he  and  Jean  goes  alone. 
Say,  Philip,  you  know  about  the  time  Daniel  bought 
the  tickets?  "  He  bent  a  laughing  face  upon  him, 
his  very  nose  seeming  to  scent  the  memory  of  the 
joke. 

"No;  what  was  that?"  questioned  Philip,  the 
feeling  that  he  was  at  'some  variety  performance 
growing  with  the  speeding  minutes. 

With  a  wave  of  the  hand  Joseph  swept  plate  and 
glasses  out  of  his  way,  and  leaned  his  arms  upon 
the  table  in  an  abandonment  of  enjoyment,  his 
bushy  eyebrows  appearing  to  wink  at  Philip  as  he 
bent  forward  in  confidential  confab. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  speaking  in  a  somewhat 
lower  voice,  as  though  fearful  of  being  overheard, 
"  Daniel  isn't  the  man  who  gets  the  best  of  a  bar 
gain.  He's  a  little  too  good,  you  know.  Where  he 
has  to  do  with  business  he  is  like  a  little  chile. 
You  know  what  the  young  people  call  him? — the 
Chevalier.  Because,  Jean  explained  to  me,  he  is 
like  some  man  who  once  lived  who  was  'without 
reproach.'  Well,  he  goes  to  the  telephone,  and 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  29 

takes  off  his  hat,  because  he  thought  at  first  a 
lady's  voice  answered  him,  and  he  asks  for  two 
good  seats ;  '  the  first  seats,  please/  he  says — I  give 
you  my  word — I  heard  him.  And  what  do  you 
think?  When  we  come  to  our  seats,  sure  enough 
we  have  the  first  seats — the  first  seats  from  the 
door!  Daniel  gets  red  in  the  face  like  fire,  but 
he  only  lifts  up  his  head  and  says,  <  There  was 
some  misunderstanding ' — and  could  I  tell  him  it 
was  a  joke?  But  that  ain't  all.  Now  comes  the 
joke  on  me.  You  know  it's  a  piece  about  a  man 
what  escapes  from  prison,  and  when  they  go  run 
ning  after  him,  somehow,  in  the  excitement,  they 
catch  the  wrong  man,  and  I  too  got  so  excited  I 
jump  up  and  holler  out,  '  You've  got  the  wrong 
man!  You've  got  the  wrong  man! '  And  Daniel 
pulls  me  by  the  coat  and  says,  '  Sit  down,  Joseph, 
sit  down ;  they've  got  the  right  man — it's  that  way 
in  the  play' — and  he  drags  me  into  my  seat.  Gott! 
I  thought  I  should  die  a-laughing." 

He  wiped  his  eyes  now,  and  as  the  appreciative 
response  died  from  Philip  May's  lips,  the  distance 
between  them  had  widened  as  star  from  star. 

"  I  am  not  of  this  world,"  thought  the  scion  of 
cultured  modernity,  even  as,  centuries  before, 
another  young  Jew  said  of  another  world  and  found 


30          HEIRS    OP    YESTERDAY 

— Golgotha.  But  he  continued  to  smile  pleasantly 
upon  his  father. 

"  Oh,  we  can  tell  you  lots  of  little  stories  like 
that/'  Joseph  promised,  tilting  back  his  chair  in 
order  to  reach  the  box  of  cigars  on  the  side-table. 
"  But — I  guess  you  won't  want  to  be  sitting  nights 
with  an  old  stick-in-the-mud  like  me.  Lots  of 
young  men  they  like  to  come  and  sit  or  talk  with 
Daniel,  but  me,  I  guess  I  ain't  mucE  company.  Of 
course  when  you  begin  to  practice  you  won't  have 
much  time  " — he  leaned  across  to  light  his  cigar  at 
Philip's— "but— " 

He  noticed  that  his  companion's  attention  had 
wandered,  and  presently  realized  that  the  room  was 
filled  with  distant  music. 

"  Who  is  that?  "  demanded  Philip,  briefly. 

"  That  is  Jean.  You  can  always  hear  it  like 
it  was  in  the  next  room.  What  you  think  of 
that  ?  "  He  looked  at  him  in  placid  triumph. 

The  music  thrilled  gloriously  through  the  divid 
ing-walls.  Philip  listened  in  artistic  wonderment 
and  enjoyment. 

"  She  knows  how  to  play,"  he  returned,  with  the 
last  note. 

"  Yah.  So  every  one  says.  TEere  she  goes 
again." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  31 

But  in  the  midst  of  the  mounting  Schubert 
ecstasy  there  was  a  sudden  crash  of  chords — and 
silence. 

"  She  often  does  like  that/'  said  Joseph,  as 
though  relieved.  "  But  I  was  saying  about  the 
way  you  will  pass  your  time.  Of  course  you  will 
join  a  club:  I  was  thinking  I  will  have  your  name 
put  up  at  the  Concordia,  and  Louis  Waterman  says 
he  wants  you  in  the  Verein." 

Dr.  May  meditatively  flicked  the  ash  from  his 
cigar.  He  had  a  singularly  well-formed  hand,,  and 
Joseph  was  attracted  by  its  perfect  control.  Sud 
denly  the  cool  hazel  eyes  looked  up  and  met  his 
father's. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,"  he  said,  in 
pleasant  brevity,  with  a  gentle  intonation,  as  he 
might  have  used  in  addressing  a  woman  or  a  patient, 
"  that  I  shall  not  join  any  Jewish  club." 

The  blood  surged  darkly  over  Joseph's  face  as 
if  in  response  to  a  blow.  "Why  not?"  he  man 
aged  to  ask. 

"  Frankly,"  explained  Philip,  lightly,  "  beyond 
the  blood  I  was  born  with,  pretty  nearly  all  the 
Jew  has  been  knocked  out  of  me." 

"  So,"  said  Joseph  May. 

"I  rather  think  it  got  its  first  blow  the  day 


32  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

when,  a  little  shaver,  I  ran  howling  to  Katie  de 
manding  to  know  what  the  fellows  in  the  street 
meant  hy  calling  me  a  (  Christ-killer ' — they  did 
such  things  here  in  the  early  seventies,  you  know. 
'  Sure/  said  Katie — I  remember  her  word  for 
word — c  that's  what  you  be,  I  guess,  my  lamb/ 
6  And  who  was  Christ?  '  I  asked.  You  remember 
the  name  was  taboo  on  Jewish  lips  in  those  same 
broad-minded  days.  '  Bless  the  little  haythen,' 
said  Katie,  (  don't  he  know  that  Christ  was  the 
Lord?'  'And  when  did  I  kill  him?'  I  asked, 
deeply  interested  in  my  forgotten  crime.  '  Oh,  cen 
turies  ago,'  replied  the  girl,  '  hundreds  of  centuries 
ago.'  '  Before  I  was  born?'  I  asked,  in  astonish 
ment.  And,  pityingly,  she  answered  yes.  It  was 
a  curious  conundrum  to  start  a  child  with  on  the 
road  of  investigation.  I  unraveled  it  as  I  went — 
knocked  the  meaning  out  of  it  against  the  bars, 
vague,  yet  ever  discernible  to  a  sensitive  nature, 
which  ever  and  again  rose  between  my  playmates, 
my  schoolmates,  my  teachers,  and  myself,  and 
huddled  me  into  my  inherited  confines.  It  was 
not  a  pretty  inheritance.  It  proscribed  me  here 
•  even  in  my  boyhood.  I  was  an  American — with  a 
difference.  I  hated  the  difference.  I  wanted  to  be 
successful — successful  socially  as  well  as  profes- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  33 

sionally.  I  resolved  to  override  every  obstacle  to 
obtain  that  perfect  success. 

"  The  opening  came  at  Harvard.  Thanks  to 
you  I  have  been  endowed  with  a  name  which  tells 
no  tales,  thanks  to  my  mother  my  features  are 
equally  silent.  I  was  thrown  in  with  a  crowd  of 
young  Bostonians — Harleigh  was  one  of  them — 
who,  through  the  fact  that  I  had  been  seen  in  the 
Unitarian  church,  took  me  for  one  of  their  own 
persuasion.  It  was  a  suggested  evasion  of  an  unfit 
shackle.  There  was  no  preconceived  deception. 
I  simply  filled  the  bill.  No  doubt  was  ever  evinced 
and  no  chance  of  an  explanation  ever  offered  itself. 
There  was  no  need  to  drag  in  an  uncongenial  fact 
when  the  nature  of  our  intimacy  never  called  for 
one." 

"  No,"  said  Joseph  May. 

"  After  that  came  Leipsic,  and  still  I  was  bound 
by  the  closest  ties  of  friendship  to  Harleigh,  who 
was  just  then  beginning  to  show  symptoms  of  the 
disease  which  eventually — .  But  about  my 
backsliding  from  Judaism.  You  know  Germany 
is  scarcely  the  soil  one  would  select  for  fostering 
the  ancient  seed,  the  body  Judaic  being  held 
there,  for  the  most  part,  in  manifest  social  disfavor. 
I  once  saw  a  curious  exhibition  of  conflicting  forces 


34          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

in  a  beer-hall  in  Berlin.  A  party  of  students, 
musicians,  were  seated  at  a  table  near  me,  drinking, 
making  merry,  and  talking  freely,  when  one  of 
them  ventured  the  sentiment  that  what  the  Jewish 
composers  couldn't  borrow  they  stole,  in  conform 
ity  to  Jacobian  precept  and  tradition.  Thereupon, 
a  young  fellow,  with  Hebrew  characters  written  all 
over  his  face,  struggled  to  his  feet,  was  about  to 
vent  his  indignation,  but,  upon  second  thought, 
laughed  confusedly,  and  sat  down  again.  Discre 
tion  had  conquered  valor.  It  was  an  interesting 
psychic  display.  Here's  another  incident  in  point 
which  may  amuse  you.  I  was  seated  one  night  in 
Paris  at  a  fashionable  table  d'hote,  when  there  en 
tered  a  number  of  English  parvenu  Jews,  glaringly 
and  aggressively  attired,  and  evidently  dazzled  by 
the  unaccustomed  importance  and  luster  of  their 
own  jewels  and  satins.  I  had  just  become  disinter 
estedly  conscious  of  their  entrance,  when  a  grande 
dame  seated  near  me  leaned  quickly  forward  and 
said,  '  Pardon,  monsieur,  but  would  you  mind  tak 
ing  the  seat  next  me?  I  shudder  to  think  of  one 
of  those  Jews  being  placed  beside  me/  It  was 
highly  diverting,  but  I  moved  up,  and  trust  she  was 
more  comfortable.  But  so  the  fashion  goes  the 
world  over.  The  question — if  it  is  a  question — is 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  35 

no  better  in  England,  where  a  noted  English  litter 
ateur,  himself  a  Jew,  has  summed  up  the  situation 
by  saying  that  the  great  middle  class,  at  least,  hung 
between  the  Ghetto  it  has  outlived  and  the  Chris 
tian  society  it  can  neither  live  with  nor  without, 
presents  the  miserable  picture  of  a  people  astray. 
And  judging  by  my  incognito  visits  behind  the 
scenes,  in  intercourse  with  my  own  countrymen, 
I  should  say  that  the  Jew,  per  se,  has  never  been 
given  the  latch-key  to  the  American  Christian 
heart.  At  best  he  is  received  with  a  mental  reser 
vation.  Apparently,  practically,  we  present  the 
magnificent  spectacle  of  a  country  without  racial 
prejudices.  Individually,  morally,  as  the  French 
say,  we  are  very  wide  of  the  mark.  Why,  the  mere 
fact  of  the  restrictions  against  them  at  many  of 
the  summer  resorts  throughout  the  country  openly 
bears  me  out.  In  short,  I  have  discovered  that  to 
be  a  Jew,  turn  wheresoever  you  will,  is  to  be  socially 
handicapped  for  life." 

He  paused  to  relight  his  cigar.  His  father  sat 
with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  his  hand  partly  shad 
ing  his  face.  He  had  laid  down  his  half-smoked 
cigar.  The  doctor,  after  a  few  thoughtful  puffs 
toward  the  ceiling,  resumed  his  quietly  serious 
monologue. 


36  HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  wrote  you,  but  among 
my  personal  treasures  I  value  nothing  more  highly 
than  the  friendship  formed  while  abroad  with  the 
family  of  Dr.  Otis  of  this  city,  an  uncle  of  Harleigh, 
who,  in  anticipation  of  my  coming,  has  named  me 
for  the  lately  vacated  chair  of  clinical  surgery  at 
C College. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  anxious  to  disclose  to  him, 
just  at  present  at  least,  that  I  am  not  what  I  have 
appeared  to  him  to  be — a  Christian  born.  You  see 
I  should  be  making  a  move  in  the  wrong  direction 
were  I  to  identify  myself  unnecessarily  with  any 
Jewish  club,  Jewish  anything,  or  Jewish  anybody. 
Dr.  Otis's  son  wrote  me  some  weeks  before  I  left 
Edinburgh  that,  with  my  consent,  he  would  be 
glad  to  put  my  name  up  at  his  club.  I  accepted, 
not  that  I  am  particularly  anxious  to  get  into  this 
or  any  Christian  club,  but  feel  quite  sure  that  is 
all  that  I  shall  have  time  or  inclination  for.  And 
from  the  nature  of  the  life  I  have  led,  I  am  certain 
that  Otis's  club  will  prove  more  congenial  than 
would  a  club  composed  entirely  of  Jews,  from  whom 
I  have  become  estranged  both  socially  and  sym 
pathetically." 

He  threw  down  his  cigar,  having  fully  analyzed 
his  position.  "  Beligiously,"  he  concluded,  with  a 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY  37 

smile  of  indifference,  "  from  the  meager  memory 
I  have  of  it,  I  consider  Judaism  a  dead  letter,  a 
monument  to  the  past.  If  it  advances,  it  does  so 
crab-like — as  its  followers  read  their  prayer- 
books — backward.  Only  professionally  have  I  any 
use  for  graveyards,  and  for  ceremonies — the  mean 
ingless  yearly  shams  and  shows  and  protesta 
tions — not  that! "  He  snapped  his  fingers  in  the 
air.  "  Well,  father,"  he  asked,  with  a  pleasant 
laugh,  bringing  his  hand  down  upon  the  table  in 
mark  of  finality,  "do  you  understand  my  stand? 
Are  you  wid  me  or  agin  me?  " 

He  glanced  toward  the  silent  figure  opposite, 
sitting  with  hand  on  brow.  The  hand  was  slowly 
lowered  and  the  old  man  turned  his  face  upon  his 
son.  His  mouth  was  curiously  twisted,  as  though 
a  smile  had  been  contorted  into  a  sneer.  He  leaned 
across  the  table,  vainly  endeavoring  to  speak,  the 
dark  blood  rushing  thickly  over  his  neck  and  face. 

The  doctor  was  beside  him  on  the  instant. 
"  Lean  back,"  he  commanded,  his  arm  about  his 
shoulders,  his  hand  at  his  cravat. 

The  old  man  hurled  him  off  with  intolerant 
violence.  "  Let  go,"  he  articulated,  in  an  unrecog 
nizable  voice,  "let  go — you — you — meshumad!" 

The  barbarous-sounding  word  held  no  meaning 


38          HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

for  Philip  May.  Scarcely  understanding  the  cata- 
clysmal  effect  of  his  words,  conscious  only  of  the 
urgent  need  of  help,  he  summoned  the  housekeeper 
on  the  instant. 

"My  father  needs  assistance/'  he  said,  briefly; 
"  see  what  'you  can  do  for  him — and  quickly, 
please." 

The  bewildered  woman  came  forward  wringing 
her  hands.  "  The  drops,  sir,"  she  said,  "  the  drops; 
Miss  Jean  said  they  was — Lord  o'  mercy,  Mr.  May, 
where  did  she  say  they  was?  " 

"  Run — ask/'  gasped  the  old  man,  struggling 
with  pain,  his  eyes  turned  completely  from  the 
pale,  frowning  man  standing  frustrate  beside  him. 
"  Ask — but  say — she  shall  not  come — nor  Mr.  Wil- 
lard.  Say  I  am — very  happy — only  this — 

"  Go,  Katie/'  commanded  Dr.  May,  sharply. 

The  woman  opened  the  door  and  fled  across  the 
back  porch.  Her  wild  ringing  was  immediately 
answered,  Daniel  Willard's  tall  figure  appearing 
holding  wide  the  door. 

"Where's  Miss  Jean?"  she  implored,  half  sob- 
bingly;  and  as  at  that  moment  the  girl  herself 
approached,  she  stepped  over  the  threshold.  "  Oh, 
Miss  Jean,"  she  cried,  distractedly,  "where  did 
you  say  you  left  the  drops  the  doctor — 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  39 

"  In  the  upper  drawer  of  the  sideboard.  Run 
back  at  once,  Katie,  if  Mr.  May  is  ill." 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss  Jean — the  top  drawer.  Oh, 
no,  he's  not  sick.  Him  sick!  Nary  a  bit — he's 
just  billin'  and  cooin'  wid  Mr.  Philip  same's  a  pair 
of  turtle-doves."  Her  voice  was  lost  in  the  dis 
tance. 

Daniel  Willard  turned  a  pair  of  startled  eyes 
upon  his  niece. 


CHAPTEE  III 

The  words  came  in  a  cry  of  bitter  agony. 

"  I  am  so  ashamed,  Daniel — I  am  so  ashamed." 

The  two  old  men  sat  in  the  Park  on  a  bench 
facing  the  Scott  Key  monument.  It  was  an  ideal 
end-of -February  day;  grass  and  flowers  were  del 
uged  with  spring  sunshine;  from  the  distance 
came  the  clamor  of  happy  birds;  children  ran  by, 
the  springtime  spell  in  their  cheeks,  their  eyes, 
their  joyous  limbs.  A  serene,  cloudless  sky,  trans 
parent  as  a  jewel,  overtopped  it  all. 

They  had  wandered  up  to  and  through  the 
aviary  to  the  grand  court  of  the  Midwinter  Fair 
grounds,  past  the  reminiscent  Museum  and  Jap 
anese  village,  and  now,  after  a  detour  through 
shaded  and  unshaded  walks,  had  been  sitting  here 
for  almost  an  hour,  Joseph  gazing  dumbly  before 
him,  only  relaxing  when  a  perfunctory  "  yah  "  or 
"  no  "  was  dragged  from  him  by  Daniel's  Render 
garrulity.  The  Frenchman  himself  had  been  silent 
for  several  seconds  when  the  irresistible  cry  came. 

He  turned  his  gently  strong  face  toward  his 
4o 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  41 

friend.  "Don't  speak  about  it — if  it  hurts, 
Joseph/'  he  said,  in  loving  solicitude,  yet  with  con 
trolled  curiosity. 

"  Hurts!  I  wish  I  could  close  my  eyes  forever." 
The  straight  lips  shut  against  each  other  as  if  for 
mutual  support. 

"  No,  no.  It  is  not  so  bad.  It  cannot  be.  We 
must  not  judge  so  quickly." 

"  My  son  is  a  meshwnad." 

"  Ah,  he  is  no  criminal.     He  is  only  in  style." 

"  Tell  me,  is  it  too  the  style  that  a  man  shall  be 
ashamed  from  his  father?  " 

"  Bah!    You  speak  banalities,  Joseph." 

"  I  know  from  what  I  speak.  I  can  read  under 
his  fine  English  of  it.  I  wish  I  had  no  more  to 
speak." 

"  Will  you  break  my  heart,  Joseph?  " 

"  What  is  that — when  a  heart  breaks?  " 

"  Come,  come.     Are  you  a  man?  " 

"  No.  I  am  a  dog — a  Jew — an  ignorant,  unedu 
cated  Jew.  The  son  is  ashamed  from  his  father." 

"  Joseph,  if  you  talk  any  more  such  nonsense, 
I  will  go  home.  I  give  you  my  word  I  cannot 
bear  it.  Come — what  was  it  all  about?  Tell 
me — if  you  care  to." 

The  heavy,  darkened  eyes  looked  straight  ahead. 


42          HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

He  began  to  speak  in  slow,  biting  sarcasm,  turning 
the  knife  in  his  own  heart.  "  My  son  is  so  educated. 
You  don't  know  how  fine  he  is.  We— me— not 
you — yes,  you  too,  perhaps — you  are  a  Jew,  I 
think?  Well,  we  will  go  some  day  and  ask  him  if 
we  can  black  his  boots.  You  never  knowed  how 
mean  and  low  and  stupid  you  and  me  always  was, 
Daniel.  Well,  I  know— my  son  told  me  last  night. 
Jews  is  what  the  niggers  down  South  used  to  call 
po'  white  trash.  My  son  told  me  so  last  night.  It 
ain't  good  to  be  a  Jew,  because  then  the  Christians 
don't  like  you.  It  ain't  good  to  be  a  Jew,  because 
when  the  Christians  don't  like  you,  you  can't  get 
along  in  this  world.  So  it  is  better  you  turn  round 
and  be  something  else.  My  son  told  me  so  last 
night.  And  if  you  have  a  Jew  for  a  father,  you 
must  not  say  he  is  your  father,  because  then  you 
will  be  found  out,  and  then  how  all  would  laugh! 
And  for  a  religion — that  is  the  funniest  thing  of 
all — the  Jews  have  for  a  religion  a  dead  body,  but 
they  make  believe  it  is  alive!  Yes,  it  is  true. 
Didn't  my  son  told  me  so  last  night?"  The  sneer 
ing  voice  ended  in  a  miserable  groan. 

Daniel    laid    his    gloved    hand    heavily    upon 
Joseph's,  but  Joseph  threw  it  off  fiercely. 

"  Don't,"  he  said,  roughly.     "  What  do  I  care 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  43 

what  he  thinks  about  any  religion.  When  he  can 
live  better  without  it — let  him.  But  you — you  can 
not  know  what  a  father  knows  when  his  chile  is 
ashamed  to  look  him  in  the  face.  I  tell  you  I 
know,  Daniel."  He  turned  his  eyes  passionately 
upon  the  protest  of  the  other,  his  mouth  setting 
bull-doggedly.  "  And  I'll  tell  you  how  I  answered 
him."  His  tone  changed  suddenly  to  heart-burst 
ing  suavity.  "  I  made  out  a  new  will  this  morning, 
according.  I  sent  for  Paul  Stein.  A  fine  will,  like 
you  talk  so  much  about— with  University  Scholar 
ships  and  Hospitals  in,  and  ich  weiss  viel !  So  well 
he  can  go  alone  and  has  no  more  use  for  his  father, 
so  well  he  has  no  use  for  his  father's  money.  I  put 
it  all  in  the  will,  and  it  sounds  kind  and  grand  the 
way  Stein  wrote  it — and  nobody  will  understand — 
because  I  fooled  even  Stein.  But  whenever  it  is 
read,  you'll  know — and  he'll  know,  just  what  it 
means.  I  left  him  a  dollar — that's  the  law,  Stein 
says — and  he  can  make  Shakos  with  it,  or  put  it  in 
a  crepe  band  on  his  hat  when  it  is  still  the  style  to 
make  believe  you  care.  But  it  won't  make  me 
nothing  out.  For  me — I  will  be  silent  in  my 
grave." 

Daniel  could  not  speak  for  grief.     His  own  face 


±4          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

was  eloquent  with  repression.     But,  "  I  will  speak 
to  him/'  he  said,,  finally. 

"Speak  to  him!  Speak  to  that  stone."  He 
pointed  his  cane  toward  the  glistening  marble  of 
the  monument.  "  Will  you  tell  him— nicely— be 
cause  you  always  speak  nicely— will  you  tell  him, 
'  Philip,  you  must  love  your  father  '?  And  will  he 
come  and  give  me  his  arm?  Adi,  Daniel,  lass  mich 
gehen" 

"You  go  too  quickly,  Joseph.  Me,  I  do  not 
jump  like  you.  No;  I  will  go  to  him  and  tell  him 
why  he  should  love  his  father  and— his  religion." 

Joseph's  laugh  rang  out  jeeringly.  "  You  always 
did  tell  yourself  pretty  moshelich,"  he  said,  gruffly. 
"  Did  they  never  end  bad— your  pretty  moshelich?  " 

"  Once.    But  that  was  a  foolish  one." 

"  And  you  think  you  can  move  a  rock?  " 

"I  know  from  where  the  rock  springs.  You, 
too,  are  a  rock,  Joseph — but  you  are  only  his 
father." 

"  Be  still,"  commanded  Joseph,  flashing  a  pair 
of  resentful  eyes  upon  him.  Then  he  continued 
more  calmly.  "You  remember  how  he  used  to 
plant  his  little  legs  and  say,  '  I  won't! ' — and  no 
body  could  whip  him?  You  remember?  Well,  he 
has  only  grown  up." 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  45 

"What  a  fine  little  fellow  he  was/7  mused 
Daniel.  "You  remember,,  Joseph?  " 

Perhaps  in  all  the  vocabulary  there  is  nothing 
wider  in  its  yearning  tenderness,  sooner  calculated 
to  find  the  rift  in  the  rough  wall  of  sorrow,  than 
the  word  spoken  as  Daniel  spoke  it. 

"  Ach  Gott!  "  said  Joseph,  brokenly. 

"  Listen.  I  think  I  know  your  boy.  The  more 
you  oppose  him  or  combat  him,  the  more  he  will 
set  his  face  against  you.  I  know  the  type.  But 
seem  to  give  in  to  him,  while,  without  his  knowing, 
you  gently  lead  him  around  your  way,  and,  sooner 
or  later,  he  will  give  in." 

"  I  am  not  smart  enough." 

"  It  is  not  smart  you  must  be — it  requires  only 
a  little  tact."  He  raised  a  suggestive,  deeply  experi 
enced  eyebrow. 

"  That  is  the  same  thing,"  said  Joseph,  bluntly. 
"  Do  you  expect  I  will  take  my  hat  under  my  arm 
and  make  him  a  deep  bow,  and  say, '  Good  son,  kind 
son,  I  am  sorry  that  my  father  was  not  rich  like 
yours — because  if  he  was  you  would  not  be  ashamed 
of  me — but  I  made  a  fool  of  myself  last  night.  For 
give  me — I  will  not  do  it  again.'  '' 

Daniel  turned  from  him  in  pain. 


46  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  I  shall  do?  "  demanded 
the  other,  savagely. 

"Me?    What  do  I  know?" 

;<You  know  you  know  better  than  me.  Why 
are  you  so  stubborn,  Daniel?  " 

Daniel  flashed  a  radiant  face  upon  him.  "  When 
he  comes  home  to-night — "  he  began. 

"  He  will  not  come  home  to-night/'  said  Joseph. 

"  You  mean—" 

"  He  did  not  stay  last  night;  I  did  not  ask  him." 

"  Then  you  have  not  seen  him  since?  " 

"  He  came  this  morning.    I  would  not  see  him." 

"  Ah." 

"  He  left  a  card." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  I  threw  it  away." 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  where  he  is  stopping?  " 

"  I  looked  before  I  threw  it  away." 

"  Do  you  remember  his  address  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  was  the  Palace  Hotel." 

"  You  are  not  sure  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  am  quite  sure." 

"  Joseph,  do  you  want  me  to  go  for  you?  " 

"  You  think  it  will  pay,  Daniel?  " 

"We  can  risk  a  little  visit.     It  will  not  cost 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEKDAY  47 

much.  Is  it  not  proper  that  I  should  welcome  my 
young  friend  home?  " 

"  What  will  you  say?  " 

"  Will  you  leave  it  to  me?  " 

"And,  Daniel?" 

"  Yes." 

"  No  one  will  know  about  it?    Not  Jean?  " 

"  Not  from  me,  Joseph/' 

^Daniel?" 

"Joseph?" 

"Nix.  Shall  we  smoke  a  little  before  we  go 
home,  Daniel?  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

Toward  the  eighth  hour  of  the  evening  of  the 
same  day,  Daniel  and  Jean  Willard  were  seated 
together,  as  they  generally  sat  directly  after  din 
ing,  when  socially  disengaged.  The  girl  was  at  the 
piano,  flooding  the  room  with  music.  The  man 
sat  in  a  glow  of  lamplight,  having  drawn  his  chair 
close  to  the  table,  and  his  fine  leonine  head  was 
thrown  into  strong  relief;  his  eyes  were  on  his  book. 
It  was  a  pleasant  room  at  any  time,  expressive  of  its 
inmates,  cozy  with  love  of  physical  comfort,  unpre 
tentiously  interesting  in  artistic  and  intellectual 
enthusiasms  happily  confessed. 

They  had  been  sitting  thus  for  nearly  an  hour, 
each  lost  in  his  and  her  own  occupation,  each  only 
sub-consciously  awake  to  the  other's  presence,  when 
Daniel  Willard  looked  at  his  watch,  laid  his  pencil 
within  his  book,  and  rising,  softly  left  the  room. 
The  girl  played  on  until  the  quietude  of  the  back 
ground  stealing  to  her  senses,  she  turned  her  head 
and  found  herself  alone.  She  lingered  a  moment, 
then  strayed  over  to  the  table. 
48 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY  49 

An  interested,  puzzled  light  passed  into  her 
eyes  as  they  fell  upon  the  open  book,  attracted 
there  by  the  penciled  annotations.  She  was  smil 
ing  perplexedly  over  them  when  her  uncle  reap 
peared  in  the  doorway.  He  wore  a  handsome  dark 
overcoat;  his  top-hat  was  in  his  gloved  hand. 

"  Going  out,  uncle  ? "  she  asked,  absently, 
scarcely  glancing  up.  "  Well,  before  you  go  tell 
me  what  m-e-s-h-u-m-a-d  means."  She  spelled  it 
carefully,  looking  up  at  him  as  she  finished. 

He  started  perceptibly,  coming  farther  into  the 
room.  "Are  you  studying  Hebrew,  dear  child?" 
he  asked,  with  smiling  restraint. 

"  Not  I,"  laughed  the  girl.  "  There  are  so  many 
more  useful  and  ornamental  things  to  learn.  But 
you  have  written  the  word  here  all  over  the  margins 
of  these  two  pages  and — " 

"I!"  His  startled  exclamation  was  accom 
panied  by  his  swift  approach.  "  Let  me  see,"  he 
said,  laying  down  his  hat  and  taking  the  book  from 
her.  As  he  adjusted  his  eyeglass  he  colored  deeply. 

"  It  is  strange,"  he  observed,  finally,  "  how 
unconsciously  one's  thought  will  pass  into  one's 
pencil  and  father  the  word.  It  is  very  strange." 
He  laid  down  the  book  and  picked  up  his  hat. 


50          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"But  what  does  the  word  mean,  uncle?"  the 
girl  insisted. 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  Let  me  see — "  reflected  the 
scholar.  "  The  root  is  sJiomad  or  shamad,  which 
means  to  destroy — hence,  meshumad,  as  ordinarily 
pronounced,  means  one  who  is  destroyed;  but  as 
generally  accepted,  it  means  the  destroying  spirit, 
or  one  who  is  destructive  or  inimical  to  his  reli 
gion.  Hence,  an  apostate." 

Her  gray  eyes  opened  wide,  a  dull,  intuitive  flush 
creeping  to  her  cheek.  "  And  what  has  Philip  May 
to  do  with  apostates?  "  she  asked. 

"  Philip  May?    Why  do  you  speak  of  him?  " 

"  Why,  dear,  your  page  is  as  black  with  his  name 
as  with  the  other  word." 

He  gave  an  ejaculation  of  annoyance,  but  imme 
diately  recovered  his  naive  equanimity.  "  Ah,"  he 
smiled,  placing  his  hand  under  her  uplifted  chin, 
and  kissing  her  good  night,  "  did  I  not  tell  you  that 
the  conscious  thought  is  father  to  the  written  act? 
— I  am  going  to  call  upon  Philip  May  at  his  hotel 
to-night." 

"  At  his  hotel?  Uncle,  you  are  keeping  some 
thing  from  me."  Her  lifted  face  was  stern  and 
pleading. 

A  sudden  fear  shook  Daniel    Willard's    con- 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  51 

science.  "  Why,  it  is  nothing,  cherie"  he  said, 
gently.  "  But — you  must  know  that  Joseph  and 
his  son  are — what  shall  I  call  it? — at  the  two  Jew 
ish  social  extremes — esthetically  speaking." 

"  Oh,  vile! "  breathed  the  girl  on  impulse, 
understanding  instinctively. 

"  No,  only  products  of  different  ages.  And  this, 
of  which  Philip  May  is  a  product,  is  a  very  artificial 
age,  my  dear — one  in  which  even  ideals  have 
become  artificial.  Society  is  a  matter  of  tastes,  not 
of  opinions.  Appearances  are  the  only  arguments 
for  or  against  a  man — all  the  heaven  in  the  human 
soul  becoming  pulled  down,  hedged  round,  slaved 
in  by  the  tyrant  Good  Form — the  shibboleth  of 
modern  social  pharisaism.  But,  being  of  this  age," 
he  smiled,  "  one  must  subscribe  to  the  age's  require 
ments,  or  fall  out  of  line,  n'est-ce  pas? — The  right 
coat — the  right  manner — when  the  Jew  will  have 
regained  these — especially  the  latter — he  will  have 
arrived  at  his  renaissance.  I  speak  in  all  simplicity 
and  without  bitterness,"  said  Daniel  Willard,  mov 
ing  into  the  hall. 

She  followed  him  silently  to  the  door.  "  I  saw 
him  this  morning,"  she  said,  with  apparent  irrele 
vance. 

"And?" 


52  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"He  was  going  up  his  father's  steps  when  T 
came  out  here.  And  he  saw  me." 

"  That  was  pleasant  for  him." 

She  laughed  angrily,  and  again  a  sense  of  fear, 
not  unmixed  with  guilt,  assailed  Daniel's  con 
science  as  he  went  down  the  steps. 

Jean  returned  to  the  sitting-room.  She  picked 
up  a  magazine  and  threw  herself  into  her  uncle's 
great  chair.  She  made  no  pretense  at  reading.  A 
vague  sense  of  exclusion,  of  heing  out  in  the  cold, 
was  upon  her,  and  she  shivered  as  though  an  open 
door  whither  she  had  been  approaching  unawares 
had  been  suddenly  slammed  in  her  face.  She  stood 
still,  in  quivering,  girlish  shame  and  confusion. 

If  Jean  Willard  had  a  fad,  it  was  for  things  of 
the  mind;  if  she  had  a  passion  it  was  for  people 
with  minds.  She  had,  theoretically,  an  enthusias 
tic  sympathy  with  the  Hegelian  concept  of  Beauty's 
being  Spirit  shining  through  matter — though  you 
might  easily  have  doubted  this,  judging  from  her 
outspoken  worship  of  all  beauties  seen  of  the  eye. 
Yet  it  was  on  the  former  basis  that  she  had  made 
her  own  atmosphere  and  chosen  or  discarded  her 
associates.  She  therefore  belonged  to  none  and  to 
all  of  the  finely  demarcated  circles  which  go  to 
make  Jewish  society.  Morally  free  and  independ- 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  53 

ent,  never  rich,  but  always  provided  with  the 
necessities  and  a  few  of  the  comparative  luxuries 
of  life,  sought  after  for  her  talent  and  seeking 
others  for  theirs,  frankly  amused  or  disgusted  over 
the  strenuous  climbing  up  the  social  ladder  of  those 
who  had  not  yet  arrived,  or  of  those  little  Alexan 
ders,  who,  having  conquered  their  own,  look  around 
for  more  worlds  to  conquer — she  held  an  individual 
position. 

Society,  so  called,  had  a  bowing,  not  an  intimate, 
acquaintance  with  her.  Among  those  she  loved  she 
was  a  magnetic,  an  imperious  power.  To  most  peo 
ple  she  was  a  sealed  book,  but  once  known  she  was 
known  by  heart.  Of  high  enthusiasms,  bravely 
loyal  and  optimistic,  hating  narrow-minded  hypoc 
risy  as  she  loved  broad-shouldered  dauntlessness, 
she  had  reached  her  twenty-fifth  year,  one  of  those 
modern  anachronisms,  a  woman  with  ideals.  Had 
she  ever  expressed  herself  to  the  rank  and  file  upon 
certain  subjects,  she  would  have  been  as  one  speak 
ing  a  dead,  hence  ridiculed,  language.  But  she 
never  expressed  herself — fully — upon  certain  sub 
jects — to  any  one. 

Nevertheless,  a  delicate  sympathy  had  always 
existed  between  herself  and  her  uncle — they  under 
stood  each  other  as  most  high-minded  people, 


54  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

dwelling  together,  must  understand  one  another. 
In  all  probability  she  could  have  been  no  more  con 
fidential  to  a  mother  or  a  sister,  had  she  had  either, 
than  she  was  to  him.  He,  imagining  her,  loved  her, 
— chivalrously;  she,  knowing  him,  loved  him  rever 
entially.  They  were  the  best  of  good  comrades. 

And  thus  it  was  that,  from  the  beginning,  Daniel 
\Villard  Bad  discoursed  to  her  upon  what,  to  him, 
was  the  wonder,  past  and  to  be,  of  Philip  May.  Thus 
she,  with  her  passion  for  perfection,  began  to  burn 
her  candles.  Thus,  as  his  coming  drew  near,  and 
the  two  old  men,  nourishing  a  tender  hope,  waxed 
warm  and  eloquent  over  his  loyalty  to  his  friend, 
his  professional  success,  his  goodly  appearance  as 
evidenced  in  his  portraits,  his  love  of  music  and  of 
all  things  artistic,  the  girl's  imagination  was  loosed. 
And  thus  we  come  to  the  anomaly  of  a  woman's 
loving  an  idea,  an  unknown  quantity. 

In  the  reaction  caused  by  her  uncle's  veiled  ex 
planation,  her  intuitive  grasp  caught  at  the  un 
adorned  facts  of  the  situation :  the  coldly  ambitious 
man  whom  culture  had  estranged  from,  made  lost 
to  sympathy  with  the  illiterate  old  Jew,  his  father. 
She  had  the  faculty  of  putting  herself  in  his  place, 
could  understand  the  shock  to  his  refined  ear  and 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  55 

tastes,  could  gauge  the  shudder  of  his  amour  propre 
when  confronted  by  his  origin.  Yet,  knowing 
Joseph  May's  unworldly  worth,  his  limitless  gen 
erosity  and  good-nature,  his  yearning  tenderness 
for  this  same  gifted  son  upon  whom  he  had  show 
ered  all  the  advantages  which  had  been  denied  him, 
— accepting  unquestioningly  and  unconditionally 
the  wisdom  of  the  fifth  commandment — for  having 
known  neither  father  nor  mother  since  maturing, 
she  had  never  been  troubled  by  the  cynicism  of  the 
"  choice  of  parents  " — her  gentle  womanhood  set 
its  face  against  her  colder,  keener  estimate  of  the 
man.  Woman-like — -she  understood  the  ugly 
truth,  but  could  not  excuse. 

As  she  sat  there,  her  bitter  knowledge  of  the 
snarl  of  things  growing  hopelessly  wider  and 
deeper,  she  heard  the  door-bell  ring,  and  rose  me 
chanically  to  the  convention  of  the  moment. 

A  slight  young  man  with  a  sensitive,  delicate 
face,  limped  into  the  room. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Forrest,"  exclaimed  Jean,  hastening 
forward,  both  hands  outheld,  "  what  a  charming 
surprise! " 

"Is  it?"  he  asked  eagerly,  holding  her  hands 
close,  and  looking  with  almost  brutal  effrontery  into 


56  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

her  eyes.  "  I  was  not  sure  that  you  would  not  con 
sider  it  an  intrusion.  You  have  never  asked  me  to 
call  upon  you." 

"  No,"  she  conceded,  drawing  her  hands  from 
his  and  pushing  a  chair  forward.  "  But  do  sit 
down." 

He  frowned  quickly  in  answer.  "  I  am  ahle  to 
stand  a  minute,"  he  said  roughly.  "  Why  not  sit 
down  yourself?  "  He  turned  the  chair  peremptor 
ily  toward  her,  and,  with  a  laugh  of  assumed  care 
lessness,  she  complied.  She  was  diffident  about 
combating  Stephen  Forrest's  vagaries. 

"  I  can  only  stay  a  second,"  he  said,  leaning 
against  the  table  near  her.  "  I  dropped  in  to  let 
you  know  that  the  workmen  have  left  my  studio, 
and  it  and  I  are  in  readiness  for  that  sitting  you 
promised  me.  When  will  you  come?  " 

"  Do  you  still  cherish  that  fantastic  Judith  no 
tion?  I  assure  you  I  am  much  too  slight  a  crea 
ture." 

"  Not  with  your  coloring — inner,  I  mean.  Out 
wardly,  I  know,  you're  just  a  study  in  black  and 
white.  To-night,  especially,  your  eyes — for  whom 
are  they  in  mourning?  " 

She  craned  her  neck  for  a  view  of  them  in  the 
glass.  "  For  their  sins,  I  suppose,"  she  laughed. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  57 

"  The  desire  of  the  eyes?  " 

"Ah,  that's  another  story,"  she  said  lightly. 
"How  is  Kate?" 

"  She's  all  right.  When  will  you  come  ?  Mon 
day?" 

"  You  seem  in  a  dreadful  hurry.  Think  it  over 
again — about  my  fitness  as  a  model,  I  mean.  There 
are  any  number  of  girls  in  the  city  better  suited  to 
the  role." 

"  Don't.  Of  course  I  know  the  streets  are  full 
of  Jews  of  all  descriptions — if  that's  what  you 
mean — you  knock  against  them  at  every  corner,  in 
every  car.  They're  a  bit  of  local  coloring — a  prom 
inent  feature — the  nose,  in  short," — he  laughed 
genially, — "  on  the  landscape,  which  our  artists 
have  forgotten  to  work  up.  But,  speaking  of  Jews, 
reminds  me.  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  fellow 
named  May — Dr.  Philip  May  who  has  just  returned 
from  Europe — fellow  with  thick  black  hair,  cock 
sure  eyes,  and  proud  lift  to  his  head?  " 

In  an  agony  of  self-consciousness,  Jean  felt  the 
disgraceful,  uncontrollable  blood  rush  tc  her  brow 
— felt  herself  a  victim  of  the  peculiar  insight  of 
Stephen  Forrest's  gaze.  "  Not  personally,"  she  an 
swered  quietly. 


58          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

The  artist  turned  inconsistently  and  seated  him 
self  upon  the  couch  directly  opposite  her. 

"  He's  a  Jew,  isn't  he?  "  he  demanded  insolently, 
with  a  sudden  ugly  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  Yes— by  birth." 

"  The  birth-sentence  is  life-sentence — isn't  it?  " 
he  laughed  daringly.  "  Then  I  wonder  why  he  is 
trying  to  sneak  into  our  Club  with  that  disbar 
ment." 

"What  disbarment?" 

"  Why,  being  a  Jew." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  such  a  Club?  What  narrow 
doors  you  build!  And  is  being  a  Jew  a  fault  or  a 
crime  ?  " 

"It's  a  misfortune — it  keeps  the  unfortunates 
out  of  our  Club."  He  laughed  airily,  yet  with  de 
liberation. 

"Why?" 

"  Quien  sabe?  "  he  shrugged.  "  The  reason's  be 
yond  me.  It's  one  of  those  inherited  reasons  passed 
down,  like  a  title,  from  father  to  son.  Oh,  it's  a 
very  aristocratic  prejudice,  I  assure  you." 

"  You  mean  bigotry." 

"  Now  don't  be  clannish — and  pray  don't  grow 
argumentative." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  you  are  saying  rather  ex- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  59 

traordinary  things  to  me — or  have  you  forgotten 
that  I  am  a  Jewess?  " 

"  Oh,  you/'  he  said,  his  brilliant  eyes  recording 
his  valuation  of  her — "  you  are  a  woman.  Your  sex 
unsects  you." 

She  raised  her  head  arrogantly.  "  One  always 
allows  you  great  latitude,  Mr.  Forrest/'  she  vouch 
safed  icily.  "I  did  not  think  you  would  make 
capital  of  my  indulgence." 

He  leaned  impulsively  toward  her.  "  Don't  in 
dulge  me,"  he  commanded  angrily.  "And  don't 
pity  me.  Hate  me,  rather.  That,  at  least,  implies 
no  weakness  in  the  object  thought  of." 

She  was  startled  by  the  full  display  of  feeling, 
although  she  had  had,  time  and  again,  ample  proof 
of  his  total  lack  of  self-control.  She  had  always 
pitied  him  as  a  potentially  strong  character  warped, 
through  affliction,  into  an  ungovernable,  selfish 
temperament.  But  his  present  insolence  had 
aroused  a  sense  stronger  than  any  sentiment  she 
could  even  bear  for  him — a  defensive  sense  which 
only  announced  itself  when  assailed. 

"  You  are  not  worth  hating,"  she  returned,  slow 
ly,  distantly,  her  eyes  traveling  from  his  feet  to 
his  head  and  away. 

He  turned  a  dull,  dark  red.     "Why,  what  is 


60  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

Philip  May  to  you?  "  he  asked,  all  regard  for  the 
sound  of  things  swept  out  of  him  by  a  sudden  un 
reasoning  jealousy. 

"What  he  is  probably  to  you — a  Jew/'  she  re 
turned  calmly,  her  eyes  down-glancing  at  him. 

"  Bah!  Even  half-closed,  your  eyes  can't  lie. 
And  as  for  myself — he  isn't  worth  the  lying  about 
— as  I  am  not  worth  the  hating.  But  I'll  tell  you 
what  he  is  to  me.  I  went  to  school  with  him.  He 
started  out  to  be  clever,  and  when  a  Jew  starts 
out  to  be  clever  there's  no  telling  how  far  his  clev 
erness  will  take  him — which  sentiment  you  may 
interpret  according  to  your  own  lights  and — preju 
dices.  Well,  I  always  hated  him.  I  had  that  hate 
for  him  that  the  fellow  who  always  comes  in  second 
has  for  him  who  always  comes  in  first.  Can  you 
understand  that  kind  of  hate?  Things  came  to 
him;  I  had  to  go  to  them.  He  strolled — I  strug 
gled;  he  came  in  victor,  laughing —  I  came  in  beat 
en,  panting.  We  both  had  brains — he  just  more 
than  I;  we  both  were  artistic — I  just  more  than  he. 
But  he  had  money  and  was  launched — while  I  had 
none  and  was  stranded — here."  The  girl  trembled 
under  the  corroding  envy  which  left  him  pallid. 

"  But  what's  that  the  poet  says  about  the  first 
being  last,  and  all  that  rot  ?  "  he  laughed  sneering- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  61 

ly.  "  Well,"— he  sprang  up—"  teacli  it  to  Philip 
May — candidate  for  membership  in  the  Omar  Club 
of  San  Francisco.  Oh,  I've  been  making  a  display 
of  myself  again,  I  know,"  he  added  with  studied 
carelessness,  "  but  you  have  such  '  divine  tender 
ness/  as  my  sister  Kate  says  in  describing  some  of 
your  playing,  that  I  know  you'll  forgive — and 
shake  hands?  "  He  held  his  hand  out  with  a  feint 
at  contrition. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  returned  playfully,  holding  her 
own  hand  behind  her,  "  what  are  you  thinking  of, 
Mr.  Forrest?  Mine  is  a  Jewish  hand,  you  know. 
It  wouldn't  dream  of  putting  itself  where  it  would 
not  be  given  the  honor  due  its  ancient  lineage." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  he  pleaded,  "  let's  not  split 
straws.  "Whatever  I  have  suggested  or  said  with 
that  confounded  loose  tongue  of  mine  doesn't 
concern  you.  And — when  are  you  coming  to  sit 
forme?" 

"  Why,  never,  Mr.  Forrest." 

"  Good  heavens,  you  would  not  be  so  childish — 
you  would  not  destroy  a  conception  that  has  taken 
fast  possession  of  me  ever  since  that  twilight  when 
I  came  upon  you  playing  that  Beethoven  adagio. 
Oh,  impossible,  Miss  Willard,  impossible! "  He 
spoke  in  imploring  eagerness. 


62          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  You  don't  know  my  possibilities/'  she  returned 
with  iron  gentleness.  "I  am  a  Jewess — Jew 
rather,  when  it  comes  to  my  people's  being  insulted 
by  those  who  know  nothing  about  them.  Now, 
I'm  going  to  give  you  a  little  gratuitous  lesson: 
Every  one  of  us  carries  the  blood,  the  history  of  all 
of  us  in  his  veins,  no  matter  how  different  we  may 
appear,  and  when  you  sneer  at  one  of  us,  you  sneer, 
by  implication,  at  all  of  us — a  communal  sentiment, 
not  always  comfortable,  or  commendable,  or  justifi 
able,  I  know.  But  there  it  is.  So  you  see  I  could 
not  cross  your  threshold  without  bringing  all  those 
shocking  old  Ghettites  and  their  diversified  grand 
children  with  me — and  I  could  not  allow  them  to 
be  coldly  treated." 

"  You  have  a  very  mixed  identity,"  he  admitted 
sarcastically. 

"  Yes.  Droll,  isn't  it?  "  she  returned  as  though 
suddenly  struck  by  the  thought. 

"  And  you  won't  come  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  looked  him  straight  between  the  eyes. 

He  set  his  teeth  over  his  futile  plea.  "  And  all 
this  wasted  race-valor  for  a — Philip  May,"  he  said 
derisively  with  raised  brows.  "  Well,  I  never  could 
compete  with  him  on  any  proposition.  I  might  as 
well  say  good-night."  He  bowed,  waited  a  moment 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  63 

for  her  to  give  some  response,  but  as  she  made  no 
movement,  he  turned  and  limped  from  the  room. 

She  did  not  follow  him.  She  heard  the  front 
door  close  behind  him  with  a  sigh  of  mingled  relief 
and  pain.  It  seemed  to  her  as  though  he  had  made 
his  disagreeable  visit  in  a  flash  of  time. 

Once  before  she  had  heard  a  rumor  pointing  to 
the  fact  that  the  Forrests  were,  had  always  been, 
Jew-haters,  but  she  generally  gave  "  they  say  " — 
gossip's  Mrs.  Harris — the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and 
when  she  met  Kate  Forrest  for  the  first  time  in  the 
studio  of  their  mutual  music-master,  had  met  her 
gracefully  half-way.  The  musical  friendship,  thus 
begun,  had  never  been  troubled  by  the  rumored 
cloven-foot,  Kate  Forrest  keeping  it  well-hidden — 
if  it  existed — while  she  knelt  in  homage  to  her 
artist  superior.  And  Stephen  Forrest,  the  painter, 
lamed  through  an  accident  in  childhood,  hovering 
between  his  attic-studio  and  the  family  living- 
rooms,  had,  in  his  passionate  love  of  beauty,  drawn, 
like  a  moth  to  the  flame,  toward  this  music-souled 
Jewish  girl  with  her  lovely  countenance. 

As  for  Jean,  to  speak  truly,  her  religion  had  al 
ways  lain  lightly  upon  her.  It  slept  in  the  suburbs 
of  her  soul,  out  of  the  track  and  traffic  of  her  life's 
uses.  She  could  not  have  recited  the  Thirteen  Ar- 


64          HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

tides  of  faith  at  the  point  of  a  sword,  but  she 
might  have  said  there  was  something  in  them  about 
the  glory  of  the  Ineffable  to  which  she  unhesitat 
ingly  subscribed.  She  might  even  have  stumbled 
over  the  Ten  Commandments,  having  been  told  by 
her  uncle  when  she  was  years  younger  that  the 
First  was  as  the  whole  of  which  the  rest  were  but 
elucidation;  and,  being  a  lazy  little  thing,  glad  of 
any  chance  for  concentration  of  energy,  she  had 
never  troubled  herself  to  review  them.  However, 
she  could  remember  a  few  stories  of  the  Talmud 
and  a  number  of  beautiful  quotations  from  the 
same,  through  having  lived  so  long  with  that  same 
gentle  scholar,  her  uncle.  But  she  knew  her  Bible 
— that  is,  she  knew  it  literarily — its  music  and  ima 
gery  having  found  instinctive  response  in  her  be 
ing  long  before  she  had  the  power  to  discern  the 
good  within  the  song.  She  could  not  have  defined 
her  religion  by  a  dogma,  and  that  was  because  she 
also  read  the  daily  papers  and  other  current  liter 
ature, — and,  from  the  life-point  view,  a  dogma  only 
proves  how  truth  may  be  a  lie.  And,  nevertheless, 
she  was  a  Jewess — having  been  born  one. 

But  of  late,  as  mentioned  before,  she  had  made 
for  herself  a  secret  breviary  which  ran  somewhat 
in  this  wise :  "  In  all  Israel  there  was  none  to  be 


HEIES    OF    YBSTBBDAY  65 

so  much  praised -as  one  Unnamed,  for  his  beauty: 
from  the  sole  of  his  foot  even  to  the  crown  of  his 
head  there  was  no  blemish  in  him." 

It  seemed  to  her  now,  as  the  house-door  closed 
after  Stephen  Forrest,  that  all  the  hitherto  straight 
rays  of  her  life  were  being  deflected,  focused  toward 
one  isolated  figure — the  challenging  figure  of 
Philip  May. 


CHAPTER  V 

Dr.  May  hesitated  on  the  curb  before  the  Chron 
icle  Building  at  the  corner  of  Market  and  Kearney 
streets.  The  hesitancy  involved  the  trivial  choice 
between  paying  a  visit  to  the  Otises,  and  receiving 
one  from  young  Otis.  Yet  it  was  big  with  chance. 

As  he  stood  illumined  in  the  white  nicker  cf  the 
electric  light,  a  party  of  young  men  came  down 
Kearney  Street.  Noticing  the  tall  figure  under  the 
tall  light,  one  of  them  gave  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise  and  murmured  a  word  to  his  companions,  who 
crossed,,  waiting  for  him  on  the  farther  side  of 
Lotta's  fountain. 

The  other  moved  briskly  toward  the  man  hesi 
tating  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk.  "  Well,  Phil/' 
he  cried  clapping  him  heartily  upon  the  shoulder 
and  holding  out  a  hand,  "  shake,  old  fellow!" 

Dr.  May's  courteously  distant  eyes  looked 
through  the  keen,  acquisitive  face,  as  through  a 
pane  of  glass.  "Ah,  Mr.  --  Mr.  --  Weiss,  I  be 
lieve?  "  he  said  politely,  vaguely,  as  though  asking 
a  strange  patient  what  might  be  the  trouble  to-day. 
66 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  67 

Weiss  took  his  cue;  his  hand  slid  easily  into  his 
trouser  pocket.  "Well/"'  he  drawled,  chuckling 
as  with  great  amusement,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  my  old 
schoolmate  back.  Town's  grown  a  little,  you'll 
find.  Which  reminds  me  of  an  incident  which  took 
place  in  the  Sunday-school  of  the  Temple  Emanuel 
on  Sutter  Street  when  you  and  I  were  kids  there. 
Teacher  asked  class, (  What  did  Moses  do  before  he 
wrote  the  Ten  Commandments?  '  Class  nonplused 
until  an  embryo  wit  raised  his  hand  and  said, 
'  Please,  teacher,  he  kept  a  cloding-store ! '  Remem 
ber?  Droll  analogy,  wasn't  it?  How's  your 
father?" 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  sauntered  jaunt 
ily  over  to  his  companions,  and  passed  on. 

Philip  crossed  the  street,  his  excluding  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  brilliantly  lighted  hotel.  He  walked 
through  the  gleaming  marble  corridor  with  a 
frowning  gratitude  over  the  fact  that  no  one  knew 
him  there,  the  idlers  about,  the  elevator  boy  who 
gave  him  a  passing  glance,  taking  him  at  his  own 
apparent  valuation  and  dubbing  him  some  visiting 
aristocrat. 

He  entered  his  room  and  lit  the  gas.  His  delib 
erate  movements  as  he  drew  off  his  overcoat  and 
seated  himself  before  the  table  strewn  with  writing 


68          HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

paraphernalia,  betokened  a  quiet,  undisturbed  men 
tal  state.  He  opened  the  evening  paper.  But  the 
printed  words  did  not  seem  to  hold  his  attention. 
Instead,  a  musing  smile  of  cold  disgust  lit  his  fine 
eyes.  The  vulgar  familiarity  of  the  contretemps 
might  have  filled  him  only  with  amusement  if  it 
had  not  carried  with  it  a  baffling  sense  of  defeat. 

He  shook  himself,  as  though  to  shake  from  his 
person  and  memory  the  tang — the  Ghetto  tang — 
which  lay  so  unmistakably  in  the  voice,  the  accent, 
the  motions,  the  very  cast  of  mind  as  of  feature  of 
these  people  who  had  stood  still.  It  all  spoke  out 
so  aggressively  to  his  finely  attuned  senses,  to  his 
sensitive  ear,  to  his  inflexible  social  standards  and 
requirements,  to  his  nice  discrimination  between 
presumptuous  intrusiveness  and  that  self-respect 
ing  unobtrusiveness  which  respects  the  unseen  in 
dividuality  of  every  other.  It  was  the  old  sad  story 
over  again  of  the  disillusioning  effect  of  light. 

For  of  course  it  was  ugly — as  everything  pointing 
to  ignorance  and  oppression  is  ugly. 

"  We  Jews! » 

His  jaw  set  hard  as  though  some  one  had  accosted 
him.  What  had  he  to  do  with  Jewry?  He  stood  off, 
examining  himself,  giving  himself  full  value.  He 
huddled  the  rest  together  in  a  heap.  Yet  even  as 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  69 

he  huddled  them,  the  face  and  form  of  his  father 
escaped,  smiting  him  accusingly.  Yet  why?  He 
had  desired  to  live  in  amity  with  him — he  had 
never  gulled  himself  with  the  idea  that  they  would 
be  mentally  companionable.  But  he  was  not  an  in- 
grate,  and  had  never  questioned  the  urgency  of 
his  duty  toward  him  though  he  had  returned  to  him 
only  at  this  late  day.  True,  he  had  developed  con 
trary  to  his  father's  expectations  and  tastes  and 
could  never  return  to  his  limitations.  He  pictured 
himself  introducing  Joseph  May  as  his  father  to 
certain  high-bred  friends — to  the  Otises — to  Lilian 
Otis,  for  instance.  His  lips  set  in  a  grim  smile  over 
the  imagined  bewildering  denouement.  He  laughed 
aloud,  a  stinging  laugh,  over  her  blue-book  limita 
tions  frightened  out  of  their  sweet  serenity  by  the 
alien  touch  upon  her  life. 

He  closed  his  eyes  in  sign  of  denial  to  the  gro 
tesque,  obtruding  contingency.  But  with  the  clos 
ing  of  his  eyes,  the  clutch  of  the  past,  like  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  renewed  its  hold  with  impish 
malice.  That  there  were  Jews  and  Jews,  Philip 
knew  well — one  sort  mumbling  and  shaking  out 
its  prayers  as  at  so  many  words  a  minute,  keeping 
to  the  letter  its  minor  fasts  and  great  fasts,  still 
happily  believing  themselves  princes  in  Israel  as 


70          HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

soon  as  the  praying-shawl  went  around  their 
shoulders,  the  other  erect,  cool,  skeptical  to  the  top 
bent  of  the  age,  scanning  the  pages  of  prayer-book 
and  life  with  the  discriminating  eye  of  intellect, 
but  retaining,  for  all  that,  Ghetto  ghosts  and  echoes 
in  mien,  or  voice,  or  mentality.  And  he  who  had 
cultivated  an  unconquerable  distaste  for  all  these 
symptoms,  knew  that  his  greatest  folly  lay  in  his 
cheating  himself  with  the  philosophy  of  the  os 
trich.  Fifteen  years  of  absence  were  as  a  day  to 
these  Jews,  with  their  ridiculous  claim  of  kinship, 
their  petty  village  curiosity  in  whoever  or  what 
ever  bore  the  remotest  identification  with  their 
race.  Oh,  the  trail  of  the  Ghetto  was  over  them  all. 

He  threw  down  his  paper,  passed  his  hand  across 
his  brow,  and,  with  a  sharp  shrug  of  dismissal, 
turned  to  the  writing-table,  just  as  a  knock  sounded 
upon  the  door.  A  card  was  handed  him. 

A  moment  later,  Daniel  Willard,  tall,  elegant, 
dignified,  a  debonair  carnation  in  his  buttonhole, 
a  charming  light  illumining  his  countenance,  came 
toward  him  with  outheld  hand. 

"  Ah,  Dr.  May,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  pressing 
his  hand  warmly,  "  this  is  a  great  pleasure  for  me/' 

"As  for  me,"  returned  Philip,  the  vivid  color 
shooting  up  his  clear,  dark  cheek.  He  wheeled  a 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  71 

chair  round  toward  him.  "  You  are  looking  well, 
sir.  One  would  not  be  extravagant  in  thinking  you 
had  found  the  secret  of  eternal  youth." 

"  You  think  so?  "  said  Daniel,  wistfully,  putting 
down  his  hat  and  seating  himself.  "  But  no.  The 
truth  came  out  in  the  car  to-day  when  a  young  girl 
rose  and  offered  me  her  seat.  But  of  course  I  did 
not  take  it." 

"  Of  course  not,"  returned  Philip,  decidedly,  con 
scious  of  keeping  himself  well  in  hand  under  the 
tender  regard  of  the  soft  brown  eyes  opposite  him 
which  seemed  to  pass  like  a  gentle  hand  over  his 
soul,  measuring  its  height.  "  No  doubt  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  your  mustache  and  let  that  signify  the 
rest." 

"  Perhaps,"  he  acquiesced,  passing  his  hand  over 
that  silver  military  adjunct.  "  You  see,  I  use  no 
hair-dye,  and  so  fill  no  one  with  illusion — except 
myself.  I  confess  to  that."  His  curly  eyebrow 
went  up,  seeming  to  knock  off  his  eyeglass,  which  he 
caught  dangling."  So  you  see,  after  all,  I  stand  ad 
mittedly  a  back  number — a  man  with  illusions." 

"  Yes?  Then  you're  out  of  the  procession.  The 
trend  of  all  modern  aim  is  to  be  without  illusions." 

"  But  what  shall  one  do  when  one  is  born  with 
them?" 


72          HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  Suit  your  appetite  to  your  dinner — the  cost  of 
all  idealism." 

"Your  advice  comes  just  about  six  thousand 
years  too  late,  I  am  afraid." 

"  You  have  heard  of  the  Roentgen  ray?  " 

"Assuredly.  It  is  the  symbol  of  the  age.  It 
would  seem  as  though  a  very  stylish  wit  had  dis 
covered  it.  But  me — I  have  another  idea." 

"  Let's  have  it." 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing.  But  I  have  thought  that 
to  see  more — will  be,  perhaps,  to  see  more  that  is 
admirable — beautiful.  It  is  a  purely  material  de 
vice,  you  Roentgen  ray,  and  can  no  more  convert 
me  than  your  Darwinian  theory  can  alter  my  belief 
in  the  divine  origin  of  man — though  I  will  confess 
that  sometimes  the  divinity  seems  as  far  distant  as 
the  monkey  does  always.  But  what  has  all  this  to 
do  with  your  home-coming!  Tell  me,  you  must 
speak  French  like  a  native  now.  You  remember 
those  abominable  verbs  and  what  headaches  they 
gave  us?  Come,  show  off  a  little  for  your  old 
teacher." 

Philip,  laughing,  drifted  into  gossip  of  the  Pa 
risian  world  of  art,  Daniel  Willard's  fine  old  face 
flushing  slowly,  as  with  wine,  while  the  life  with 
which  he  had  always  kept  himself  in  touch  was 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  73 

charmingly,  graphically  unfolded  for  him.  His 
glasses  came  off  enthusiastically,  were  pointed  ar- 
gumentatively,  were  closed  excitedly,  were  adjusted 
decidedly,  as  he  agreed  or  questioned  his  compan 
ion,  lending  him  finally  his  old  experience,  his 
minute  encyclopedic  knowledge,  his  personal  ac 
quaintance  with  some  of  the  great,  delightful  men 
of  his  day  whom  he  had  met  when,  for  a  brief  space 
of  years,  he  had  returned  to  Paris. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh,  "  it  is  like  liv 
ing  the  old  charm  over  again.  I  read  my  old  Paris 
in  your  young  one,  as — as  I  read  your  mother's 
features  in  your  face,  my  dear  Philip.  It  is  wonder 
ful — the  resemblance." 

It  came  out  naturally,  uncontrollably,  a  trifle 
tremulously.  He  removed  his  glasses,  polishing 
them  solicitously. 

The  slow  color  rose  to  Philip  May's  brow.  He 
bent  a  trifle  forward.  "  You  knew  my  mother,  I 
believe,"  he  said,  swiftly.  "Tell  me  about 
her." 

And  Daniel  Willard,  gentle-eyed  dreamer  that  he 
seemed,  understood  the  whole  harsh  tragedy  of  the 
demand.  It  was  as  though  the  son  of  Joseph  May 
had  said,  "  Account  for  me!  " 


74          HEIES    OF    YESTEBDAY 

And  Daniel  the  diplomat,  Daniel  the  lover,  Dan 
iel  the  friend,  answered. 

"  Often  I  tried  to  account  to  myself  for  her  per 
fect  loveliness,"  he  said,  softly,  reminiscently,  "  and 
the  only  answer  I  could  find  was  that  she  was  an 
inspiration  of  God.  There  are  many  such  inspi 
rations,  I  helieve,  but  I  doubt  if  he  has  been  just  so 
inspired  since.  I  take  off  my  hat  to  the  thought  of 
her."  He  flushed  tenderly  up  to  the  roots  of  his 
silvery  hair,  with  a  wistful  smile  toward  her  son. 

A  silence  followed  his  words.  Philip  recovered 
himself  with  a  quick,  indrawn  breath.  "Thank 
you/'  he  said,  laconically. 

Daniel  arose,  picking  up  his  hat.  "  I  have  en 
joyed  my  little  tete-a-tete  with  you  very  much," 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  am  glad  I  came 
— as  some  of  my  young  friends  express  it — although 
your  father  has  asked  me  to  dine  with  you  and  him 
Monday  night,  and  the  pleasure  will  be  so  soon 
renewed." 

"Monday  night?"  repeated  Philip,  question- 
ingly. 

"  Certainly;  so  I  understood  him  to  say  to-day  in 
the  Park."  He  said  it  lightly,  as  though  deciding, 
perhaps,  a  point  in  rhetoric.  "  We  spent  a  few 
sunny  hours  in  the  Park  this  afternoon.  I  have  not 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  75 

seen  him  since,  but  I  hope  he  is  not  lonesome.  You 
see,  nearly  every  night  we  have  a  little  game  of 
picquet — it  is  the  only  game  I  know — but  one  must 
have  some  plaything  when  one  has  a  friend.  But 
before  I  go,  Jean — my  niece  who  lives  with  me  and 
who  plays  the  piano  a  little — she  plays  like  an 
angel,  though  I  say  it  who  should  not — Jean  will 
play  perhaps  for  an  hour  for  me,  and  during  that 
time  Joseph  reads  the  evening  paper.  It  is  then 
he  likes  to  have  some  one  come  in.  A  lundi,  then!  " 
He  held  out  his  hand  again. 

"  You  are  very  intimate  with  my  father,"  re 
marked  Philip,  constrainedly,  as  he  took  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  is  a  very  old  intimacy.  But  oi 
course  you  have  heard  that  story." 

« I  think  not." 

"  No?  Then  I  will  tell  it  to  you.  I  am  as  amus 
ing  as  a  lady's  postscript,  am  I  not?  However — . 
Many  years  ago  when  I  was  a  lad  of  twenty  earning 
a  precarious  living  in  New  Orleans  and  the  neigh 
boring  villages  by  giving  lessons  in  French  and 
German,  I  was  traveling  one  morning  from  the 
city  to  Biloxi,  and  was  suddenly  taken  with  the 
most  excruciating  cramps  it  has  ever  been  my  for 
tune  to  endure.  I  was  in  the  depths  of  the  woods, 
with  no  habitation  in  sight  but  a  forsaken  cabin. 


76  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

To  this  I  crawled,  thankful  for  the  shelter  from  the 
blazing  sun.  There  I  lay  in  feverish  agony  the  live 
long  day,  begging  for  water  from  every  passer-by, 
but  at  sight  of  me  they  all  fled,  crying,"  The  fever! " 
as  they  ran.  And  they  were  quite  right  to  run — 
quite  right,  for  the  yellow  fever  was  then  raging. 
But  just  at  nightfall  I  heard  strong,  heavy  foot 
steps,  and  a  rough,  kind  voice  exclaimed  out  of  the 
darkness, '  Gott  im  himmel! '  and  there  stood  a  little 
Jewish  peddler.  Well,  he  staid  with  me,  and  twen 
ty-four  hours  after,  I  arose  a  well  man.  I  have  told 
you  I  take  off  my  hat  to  do  your  mother's  memory 
reverence,  but  I  would  take  off  my  coat  to  fight  for 
Joseph  May.  Good  night."  He  held  out  his  hand 
again. 

Philip  watched  him  walk  down  the  gallery,  light 
ly,  joyously,  as  one  having  glad,  free  thoughts. 
Then  he  shut  the  door. 

Was  the  man  an  emissary,  a  poseur,  or  only  a 
rare  specimen  of  human  simplicity?  At  any  rate, 
he  found  the  sands  sliding  perilously  under  his  feet, 
found  himself  clutching  at  the  vanishing  land 
marks  of  his  journey  hitherto,  only  to  have  them 
glide  mockingly  from  his  grasp.  He  flushed  un 
comfortably,  as  though  some  one  had  laughed  at 
him..  He  frowned  again  upon  his  impotency,  upon 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  77 

the  intruding  memory  of  the  man  with  his  manifest 
refinements  of  aspect  and  thought  and  manner; 
he  wondered  why  he  suddenly  remembered  the  girl 
whose  shadowy,  glad  gray  eyes  had  startled  his 
prejudices  that  morning. 

But  a  second  imperative  knock  again  interrupted 
his  thought.  The  lines  fled  from  his  brow  at  sight 
of  the  jovial-faced  young  fellow  before  him. 

"  Hello,,  Doctor/'  the  latter  cried,  coming  into 
the  room  and  depositing  a  violin  case  upon  the  floor 
as  he  sank  into  a  chair.  "  Thought  I'd  knock  you 
up  on  my  way  to  my  apartments  up  above  and  see 
whether  you'd  settled  upon  an  office  yet.  Didn't 
I  see  the  Prince  of  Courtesy  come  out  of  here  just 
now?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Mr.  Willard." 

"Yes.  Old  friend  of  yours?  Great  old  gentle 
man,  isn't  he?  One  always  looks  for  a  decoration 
in  his  coat  when  speaking  to  him.  He  is  quite  out 
of  the  regulation  run  of  people  with  his  stately,  ex 
quisite  manner, — and  the  surprising  thing  about 
him  is  that  he's  a  Jew.  You  knew  that,  didn't 
you?  " 

"  Perfectly." 

"Exactly,"  laughed  the  other.  "He  has  the 
habit  of  always  reminding  one  of  the  fact  by  some 


78  HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

manner  of  means,  as  though  he  were  afraid  one 
might  forget  it  or  think  he  was  ashamed  of  it. 
Queer  infatuation  for  the  inevitable,  eh?  But 
to  get  back  to  Gentile-ity — what  about  the 
office?" 

"  I've  about  decided  on  the  one  on  Sutter  Street," 
he  responded,  bringing  his  galloping  thought  to 
rest  upon  his  visitor.  "  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
apartments  up  above?  Don't  you  live  at  the  family 
home?" 

"  Did,  but  the  workmen  are  all  over  the  place, 
and  I  never  could  stand  a  mess.  So  I've  pitched  my 
tent  here  meanwhile,  although  my  mother  has  me 
tied  to  her  by  a  string.  By  the  way,  she  sends  you 
her  love,  and  Lil — her  respects." 

"  Thanks,"  laughed  Philip.  "  I  shall  call  upon 
them  as  soon  as  I  get  in  calling  spirit." 

"  By  Jove,  I  was  almost  forgetting!  They  want 
you  to  dine  with  them  Monday  night— without 
ceremony.  They  told  me  to  secure  you  to-night, 
and  they'll  ring  you  up  in  the  morning." 

"  Too  bad,"  returned  Philip,  with  polite  regret. 
"  I  have  an  appointment  for  Monday  night."  He 
was  surprised  over  his  own  decision,  and  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Already!     Our  old  sawbones  said  you  had  a 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  79 

neat  little  ovation  at  the  college  to-day.  But  I 
don't  suppose  your  date  is  with  the  medical  depart 
ment  of  your  life." 

"  No.  With  my  father.  These  rooms  were  just 
a  makeshift  until  now,  when  he  finds  himself  ready 
to  take  me  in." 

"  A  stranger,  eh  ?  But  I  can't  imagine  any  one's 
taking  you  in — there's  something  too  cool  and  prac 
tical  about  you — businesslike,  one  might  say.  But 
about  your  father.  Queer  we  don't  know  him. 
May — May?  John  May,  the  newspaper  man?  " 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  suppressing  an  internal  grin. 
"  Joseph  May — a  retired  merchant — in  fact,  a  re 
tired  man  in  every  sense.  He  has  cared  little  for 
the  world  since  my  mother's  death." 

"  That  accounts  for  our  ignorance  then  of  his 
personality.  I  should  like  to  meet  the  father  of 
Philip  May." 

"  Some  day,"  promised  Philip,  in  careless  dis 
missal. 

"  All  right.  And  I  want  you  to  dine  with  me 
a  month  from  to-day,  April  1st,  or  2d,  will  you?  " 

"  What's  the  occasion  so  long  anticipated?  " 

"  Well,  the  Omars  meet  for  re-election  of  officers 
— and  new  members — March  31st,  and  I  want 
to  have  a  jollification  in  my  rooms  the  night 


80  HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

following — to  celebrate  your  becoming  one  of  us. 
You  still  play? — the  piano,  I  mean,  not  cards." 

"  I  can  take  a  hand  at  either  on  occasion/' 
laughed  Philip.  "  My  accomplishments  are  pro 
miscuous,  if  nothing  else." 

"  It's  all  art — or  science,"  returned  Otis,  rising. 
"  And  anything  under  those  elastic  heads  goes  with 
us.  We're  not  specialists  in  the  art  of  life — we're 
for  the  all  together,  as  Stephen  Forrest  might  put 
it." 

"  Stephen  Forrest?  Surely  I  know  that  name." 
"  Artist,  lame.  Devilish  clever." 

"  I  think  I  knew  the  man  a  little — we  went  to 
school  together." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  It's  better  having  Stephen 
Forrest  with  you  than  agin  you.  He  has  all  the 
attraction  of  a  danger  signal." 

Philip  smiled.  Being  a  San  Franciscan  born, 
and  possessed  of  an  excellent  memory,  the  aristo 
cratic  prejudice  of  the  Forrest  family  was  not  un 
known  to  him.  Besides  which,  he  dimly  remem 
bered  that  between  himself  and  this  particular  For 
rest  there  had  been,  in  the  old  days,  little  love  lost 
or  regretted. 

Left  to  himself,  he  set  his  brow  against  the  hos 
tile  thought,  as  he  set  the  judgment  of  his  senses 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY  81 

against  the  obtruding  argument  of  Daniel  Wil- 
lard's  personality.  Suddenly  a  light  flared  up  about 
the  memory  of  the  fleeting  glimpse  of  those  wonder 
ful,  glad  gray  eyes  of  the  morning — his  father's 
insinuating  words  and  tone,  the  diplomat's  careless 
allusion. 

"  Faugh!  "  he  thought,  disgustedly,  "  they're  all 
alike — shrewd,  persuasive,  crafty." 

Which  goes  to  prove  how  a  name  may  carry  its 
own  judgment  with  it. 


CHAPTEE  VI 

"Jean,  Jean!  Hurry  a  little,  my  dear,"  called 
Daniel  Willard  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  But  it's  early  yet,  uncle.  Why,  I  believe  you've 
actually  put  on  your  overcoat,  and  I  haven't  even 
got  into  my  gown  and — " 

"  Sh — !  "  The  tall  figure  below  disappeared 
through  the  door  of  the  living-room  and  the  girl 
retreated  in  surprise  from  the  balustrade. 

But  perhaps  he  was  going  farther  after  escorting 
her  to  Laura  Brookman's,  she  thought,  and  she 
had  better  not  detain  him  unnecessarily — she  held 
his  stately  disapproval  in  much  too  wholesome 
respect.  The  preliminaries  to  her  toilet  being  ac 
complished,  it  took  her  but  a  few  minutes  to  com 
plete  it  with  the  donning  of  the  simple  white  gown 
which  had  seen  much  pleasant  service,  and  pres 
ently  she  was  running  downstairs,  carrying  her 
gloves  and  wrap,  and  pinning  on  her  hat  in  her 
descent. 

"  Here  I  am,"  she  announced,  coming  into  the 
flood  of  gaslight,  still  intent  upon  jabbing  in  a  re- 
82 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  83 

fractory  hat-pin.  "It's  ridiculously  early,  but  I 
don't  mind  with  Lau — " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  her  hands  dropping  from 
their  task,  at  sight  of  the  stranger  standing  tall  and 
easy  under  the  chandelier. 

"  Dr.  May,  Jean.    My  niece,  Doctor." 

The  girl  acknowledged  the  introduction  as  he  re 
ceived  it,  with  calm  grace,  reflecting  the  reserve 
in  the  glance  from  his  hazel  eyes,  the  distant  smile 
upon  his  reticent  lips,  unprepared  though  she  was 
for  the  meeting. 

"  Shall  we  not  sit  down?  "  she  asked  undecidedly, 
noticing  that  both  gentlemen  held  their  hats  in 
their  hands. 

Her  uncle  quickly  undeceived  her.  "  No;  if  you 
are  ready,  we  will  go.  We  are  going  to  drop  you 
on  the  way.  Dr.  May  has  an  hour  to  spare  and 
is  coming  with  me  to  the  French  Hospital  to  visit 
Bonnat, — you  know  poor  old  Bonnat,  Jean?  " 

"Your  dear,  ladylike  old  man  who  wears  his 
pride  like  a  last  year's  bonnet?  Well?  " 

"My  dear,  you  know  you  like  him,"  reproved 
Daniel.  "  But  I  have  told  the  doctor  he  will  find 
him  a  hard  case." 

"An  interesting  one,  from  all  accounts,"  ob 
served  Philip,  moving  toward  the  door  as  if  to 


84          HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

hurry  them.  "  Nothing  arouses  my  egotism  more 
than  the  hope  of  overcoming  other  people's  failures 
— or  Bonnats." 

Daniel  helped  his  niece  with  her  wrap.  "  But," 
hesitated  the  girl,  distantly.  "  I  really  don't  care 
to  inconvenience  Dr.  May.  Mollie  will  walk  to 
Laura's  with  me." 

"  It  will  be  no  inconvenience/'  he  assured  her,  in 
surprise,  holding  the  portiere  aside.  "  Although 
my  hurrying  you  off  in  this  fashion  robs  your  uncle 
of  his  usual  concert." 

"  Your  father  has  been  telling  tales,"  she  re 
turned,  pleasantly  formal,  walking  with  him  to 
the  door. 

"  No— the  walls." 

"  I  forgot  I  had  a  critic  on  the  other  side.  Next 
time  I  shall  play  pianissimo." 

«  Wouldn't  that  be  selfish?  " 

u  But  everybody  is  selfish." 

"  In  degrees." 

"  And  with  exceptions.  Witness  somebody  wait 
ing  out  here  on  the  steps  for  me.  Ugh,  how  dark 
and  cold  it  is!  " 

The  bitter  fog  drove  straight  in  their  faces  on  the 
icy  breath  of  the  keen  March  wind  as  he  closed  the 
door  behind  them.  They  joined  Daniel  Willard 


HEIKS    OF    YESTERDAY  85 

waiting  for  them  at  the  foot  of  the  steps.  Jean 
slipped  her  hand  through  her  uncle's  arm,  and  they 
turned  southward,  down  the  hill.  They  walked 
briskly,  their  steps  ringing  sharp  on  the  asphalt. 
The  gas  in  the  street  lamps  flared  wildly,  making 
grotesque  shadows  of  the  tall,  hurrying  figures 
with  the  fluttering  drapery  of  the  girl  between. 

"  I  like  it,"  she  laughed,  when  Philip  protested 
against  the  tug  of  war  between  hill  and  wind.  "  I've 
been  raised  on  it.  It's  like  getting  on  in  spite  of 
things — and  I'd  think  it  lots  of  fun  if  it  didn't  take 
uncle's  breath  away." 

"  Not  at  all,"  repudiated  Daniel,  drawing  himself 
up  to  a  straighter  perpendicular.  "  I  have  not  been 
speaking  because  it  is  foolish  to  fill  one's  lungs  with 
the  fog.  Am  I  not  right,  Doctor?  " 

The  latter  met  the  girl's  merry  eye  with  a  twin 
kle  of  his  own  before  assuring  the  old  gentleman  of 
the  wisdom  of  his  caution.  "  Although,"  he  add 
ed,  "  I've  been  told  it  is  accountable  for  the  famous 
complexions  of  the  women  of  the  city.  So  it  com 
pensates  itself  gallantly." 

''  Yes,  we're  all  radiant,"  said  Jean,  turning  up 
her  own  creamy  colorlessness  for  his  inspection, 
"  and  all  wild  and  woolly.  Please  take  notice  that, 
despite  her  fearlessness,  a  girl  with  only  two  blocks 


86  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

to  walk  at  night  is  punctiliously  provided  with  an 
escort.  But,  with  due  exaggeration  admitted  for 
art's  sake,  surely  only  the  blind  would  fail  to  re 
mark  our  beautiful  women." 

"  Everything  is  in  the  eye  of  the  observer,'* 
laughed  Philip,  equivocally,  glancing  down  at  her. 
"  Some  people  are  beauty-blind,  you  know.  And 
standards  differ — and  no  one  is  the  measure  of  all 
things.  Remember  the  ass  who  preferred  his  this 
tle  to  gold." 

"  Happy  ass,"  murmured  Jean. 

"  Most  asses  are  happy,"  he  vouchsafed. 

"Being  stupid?"  she  suggested. 

"Being  satisfied,"  he  returned,  shortly.  Then 
suddenly  remembering  that  he  detested  any  dis 
play  of  self  through  word  or  tone,  he  drew  rein, 
surprised  at  his  slight  lapse  under  the  girl's  lovely 
eyes. 

They  stopped  presently  before  an  imposing 
house. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said,  putting  up  both  hands 
to  turn  up  her  uncle's  coat-collar.  "  Don't  bother 
to  come  up  the  steps,  dear."  She  held  out  a  frank 
hand  to  Dr.  May.  "I'm  glad  Uncle  Joseph  has 
you  back,"  she  said,  swiftly. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  87 

"  Good  night,"  he  returned,  courteously,  taking 
her  hand  and  raising  his  hat. 

The  next  minute  she  had  run  up  the  steps  and 
rung  the  bell.  As  they  waited  while  she  stood  just 
beneath  the  flickering  lantern,  holding  her  long 
gray  wrap  about  her,  her  face  showing  fitfully  in 
the  wavering  light,  Philip's  critical  eye  paid  reluc 
tant  homage  to  her  personality.  She  disappeared 
abruptly  as  in  a  well  of  light,  and  the  two  men 
turned  toward  the  Sacramento  Street  cars. 

A  delicious  sense  of  warm  luxury  greeted  her. 
She  walked  slowly  through  the  stately  hall  and  up 
the  broad,  familiar  staircase,  as  directed,  oblivious 
for  once  to  the  harmony  of  rugs  and  hangings  and 
deep-toned  walls.  Pained  over  the  vague  yet  in 
dubitable  reserve  with  which  Philip  May  had  met 
her,  scorning  herself  for  what  she  had  expected 
merely  on  the  score  of  her  friendship  with  his 
father,  glad  of  the  thought  that  he  was  kind — 
spreading  the  glow  of  his  going  to  poor  old  Bonnat 
into  a  sort  of  halo  over  his  coldly  intellectual  as 
pect — "  for  kindness,"  she  argued,  as  though  apol 
ogizing  for  his  apostasy,  "is  as  good  a  working 
creed  as  any  in  this  hungry,  workaday  world  " — 
lost  in  her  chaotic  abstractions,  she  reached  her 
friend's  boudoir  before  she  realized  it. 


88  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

A  tall,  handsome  young  woman,  crowned  with  a 
mass  of  golden  hair,  absorbed  in  applying  the  last 
daub  of  powder  to  her  nose,  threw  down  her  hand 
glass  at  her  approach  and  came  gayly  toward  her. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  delightedly,  "  I'm  so  glad  you've 
come  early — now  we  can  have  a  few  words  together 
before  we  go  down.  How  do  you  look?  What  have 
you  on?"  She  was  hurriedly  unfastening  the 
girl's  wrap  while  she  spoke. 

"  Just  the  old  white  thing,"  replied  Jean,  in  sur 
prise.  "  You  said  no  one  would  be  here  but  Paul 
Stein,  and  that  we  three  would  have  a  good  old  talk 
together,  your  lord  being  due  at  his  club." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  I  was  afraid  you  had  come 
in  a  shirt-waist,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"Suppose  I  had?  Paul  doesn't  count — but  I 
felt  like  looking  nice  to-night,  hence  my  festive 
appearance  in  this  old  rag." 

"  The  old  rag  was  an  inspiration,  and  you  look 
lovely.     Don't  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  daft.     The 
fact  is,  Jean — would  you  have  come  to  dine  with 
us  to-night  if  I  had  rung  you  up  rather  late?  " 
-"  I  don't  know.    Why?" 

"  Well,  Charlie  sent  me  word  he  was  going  to 
bring  some  one  home  to  dinner,  but  as  I  wasn't  in 
— .  Sit  down  there."  She  pressed  her  into  a  chair. 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY  89 

"  I  believe  you  are  positively  excited  over  some 
thing/'  murmured  Jean,  eying  her  with  curiosity. 

Laura  laughed  and  seated  herself  near  her.  "  To 
tell  the  truth/'  she  began,  half  jestingly,  half  judi 
cially,  the  color  sweeping  over  her  rose-tinted 
cheeks — then  she  stopped.  "Jean/'  she  essayed 
again,  wholly  earnest  now,  "  do  you  think  I  care 
for  you?  " 

"  Laura,"  repeated  Jean,  in  exaggerated  solem 
nity,  "  do  you  think  I  care  for  you?  You  are  be 
ginning  to  frighten  me." 

"  Because  you  frighten  me.  I  don't  know  how 
to  begin — you  are  so  different  on  some  points  from 
other  girls.  Well,  then,  Ted  Hart  is  down  in  the 
billard-room  with  Charlie." 

"Indeed!     One  of  the  gold-incrusted  Harts?" 

"Yes;  the  bachelor." 

"  I  thought  he  lived  in  the  East,  or  abroad,  or 
somewhere." 

"  He  does,  but  he  is  visiting  his  business  inter 
ests  on  this  coast  and,  incidentally,  his  brothers." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  about  it?  Does 
he  threaten  your  peace?  Is  that  why  you  ran 
upstairs?  " 

"  No ;  I  was  waiting  for  you.  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  to  be — amiable  to  him." 


90  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  What  a  libel!   Am  I  not  always  amiable?  " 

"  No;  and  you  know  you're  not.  If  a  man  doesn't 
just  happen  to  come  up  to  your  demands  you  can 
freeze  him  into  an  icicle." 

"  Thanks.  It  doesn't  sound  pretty,  but  it  isn't 
true.  I  only  treat  a  man  according  to  his  preten 
sions.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  poor  Mr. 
Hart?" 

"  There!  You  are  going  to  be  difficult  to-night. 
I  know  it— I  feel  it." 

Jean  laughed  softly,  amusedly.  "  You  have  no 
idea  how  hard  and  ordinary  those  violet  eyes  of 
yours  look  just  now/'  she  said,  slowly.  "  Just  let 
that  match  burn  out  of  them,  Laura — and  drop  it." 

"  There  are  millions  in  it,  Jean." 

"  That  sounds  like  an  echo  of  your  husband." 

"  Yes,"  Laura  agreed,  with  a  slight  laugh. 
"  Charlie  is  rather  blunt.  Perhaps  you  prefer  the 
more  poetic.  Then  why  not  'take  the  cash  and 
let  the  credit  go  9 — although — " 

"  Don't  get  any  deeper  in  the  mire  of  figures,  I 
beg  of  you.  Think  of  calling  a  man  Cash!  " 

"  I  was  thinking  more  of  the  credit,  Miss  Inde 
pendence." 

"And  what  is  that,  pray?  My  beggarly  little 
bank-book?" 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  91 

"  No — the  even  smaller  one,  the  invisible 
account  we  all  hold  against  Fate,  the  banker  of 
dreams,  who  loses  all  we  have  in  mad  speculation, 
and  when  we  come  clamoring  for  our  own — 
behold  closed  doors." 

"  Listen,  Laura.  Don't  I  hear  the  children's 
voices  ?  "  The  quiet  tone  restored  Laura  Brook- 
man  to  a  sudden  consciousness  of  undue  intensity. 
They  were  both  pale,  but  the  older  woman  laughed 
the  emotion  away. 

"  I  was  actually  reading  you  a  sermon,  wasn't 
I?  "  she  said,  rising  with  the  girl.  "  Yes,  the  chil 
dren  are  waiting  to  kiss  you  good  night." 

Whatever  the  cause  of  her  agitation,  Mrs.  Brook- 
man  was  happiness  incarnate  when  they  left  the 
nursery  a  few  minutes  later.  When  the  two  friends 
went  downstairs  together  she  was  pleased  to  turn 
her  little  venture  at  matchmaking  into  a  merry 
jest. 

"  They  have  gone  into  the  library,"  she  said,  as 
the  sound  of  men's  voices  reached  them. 

"  Is  that  the  voice  of  Cash  ?  "  whispered  Jean. 
"  Its  sound  is  unfamiliar  to  me.  I  recognize  Paul's 
and—" 

"  Wait  a  minute — who  is  that  ?  Why,  it's  that 
Vic  Davis.  He  must  have  come  in  with  Paul." 


92  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

Each  favored  the  other  with  a  little  grimace  of 
distaste. 

They  entered  through  the  drawing-room.  As 
Mr.  Brookman  caught  sight  of  them  from  his  posi 
tion  among  the  group  before  the  blazing  open  fire 
place,  he  lounged  good-naturedly  toward  them. 
Good  nature  seemed  the  keynote  to  the  man — it 
exuded,  as  it  were,  from  every  inch  of  his  prosper 
ous-looking,  lazy  figure  and  stout,  florid  face.  He 
called  his  wife's  friend  "  Jeanie  "  in  loud-voiced 
jocularity,  and  at  any  time  would  have  gladly 
played  at  making  love  to  her;  but  she  called  him 
"  Mr.  Brookman,"  in  pleasant  friendliness,  and  he 
never  got  any  further  than  a  foolish  killing  glance 
or  two. 

Jean  was  introduced  to  the  stranger,  a  quiet- 
mannered  man,  whose  keen  yet  kindly  eyes  were 
the  only  good  feature  in  a  face  marked  with  the 
wear  and  tear  of  opportunity  enjoyed. 

"  The  bonne  bouche  last,"  said  Paul  Stein,  a  tall, 
slender  man  of  thirty-five  or  thereabout,  upon 
whose  plain,  thin,  clever  features  the  rough  hand 
of  life  had  left  harsh  manuscript.  He  put  out  an 
imperious  hand  to  Jean.  "  Here's  a  warm  place — 
come  and  share  it." 

"  No,  I  see  my  favorite  chair  in  that  corner. 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  93 

But  you  can  talk  to  me  just  as  comfortably  from  a 
distance." 

"  I  am  never  distant  with  you  if  I  can  help  it," 
he  said,  pushing  a  hassock  toward  her,  but  pausing 
to  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Brookman  before  seating 
himself.  "  Vic  been  making  his  apologies  for  com 
ing?  "  he  asked,  glancing  good-humoredly  at  the 
vivid-faced,  eagle-nosed  young  fellow  behind  her. 

"  She  refuses  to  accept  them,"  the  latter 
retorted,  extending  a  deferential  hand  to  Jean, 
"  although  I  assured  her  I  never  would  have  ven 
tured  in  if  the  wind  hadn't  been  so  pressing." 

"  Mr.  Davis  has  not  called  upon  me  since  the 
day  I  refused  to  give  him  my  hand,"  laughed  Laura, 
sinking  upon  the  couch  and  inviting  the  unex 
pected  guest  to  the  place  beside  her. 

"  What's  that?  "  exclaimed  Brookman,  in  mock 
suspicion,  from  the  depths  of  the  great  arm-chair, 
where  he  had  gulfed  himself  into  a  shapeless  heap. 
"  Is  there  a  skeleton  in  my  closet?  " 

"I  only  asked  for  her  palm,"  soothed  Davis, 
"thinking  it  might  make  good  reading  matter. 
But  she  was  too  superstitious  to  let  me  see  it." 

"  Superstitious!  If  I  had  been  superstitious  I 
would  have  begged  you  to  read  it  at  once.  There 
isn't  a  suspicion  of  superstition  in  me/' 


94          HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  But,"  drawled  her  husband,  "  she  won't  make 
one  of  thirteen  at  tahle  or — " 

"  That's  a  good  Christian  superstition," 
observed  Paul,  indulgently. 

"  I  know  a  man/'  retorted  Laura,  glancing 
toward  her  husband,  "  who,  every  morning  before 
going  downtown  to  earn  his  children's  bread  and 
butter,  prays,  '  Lord,  deliver  me  from  the  evil  eye 
of  a  yellow  dog.' " 

"  All  Jews  are  superstitious,"  quietly  remarked 
Hart,  from  where  he  stood  toasting  himself  before 
the  blazing  log. 

"Every  one  is,"  supplemented  Paul,  "and 
every  one  denies  it.  The  Jews,  if  anything,  are 
less  so  than  any  other  race.  We're  too  material, 
you  know,  too  practical — we've  had  the  dream 
knocked  out  of  us." 

"  Why,  there,  Paul,  you  and  my  uncle  are  alto 
gether  at  outs.  He  says,  '  While  the  Jew  stands, 
his  dream  stands/  " 

"  Oh,  when  the  Chevalier  says  that,  Jean,  he  is 
arguing  from  the  Messianic  hypothesis.  He's 
romantic.  We  evolutionists  have  got  over  that — 
evolutions,  like  millenniums,  being  slow  work." 

"  Exactly.      That   is   just    what   he    says — we 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY  95 

haven't  outgrown  all  our  weaknesses  yet.  Although 
he  doesn't  call  dreaming  a  weakness." 

"  Of  course  he  doesn't — for  every  Jewish  weak 
ness  he  has  an  excuse.  He  is  loyal  as  he  is  learned." 

"  Once  a  Jew  always  a  Jew,"  remarked  Brook- 
man,,  as  though  settling  the  question. 

"  That's  where  you're  dead  off,  Brookman," 
exclaimed  young  Davis,  with  a  knowing  laugh. 
"  Do  any  of  you  happen  to  know  Phil  May — or, 
rather,  Philip  May,  M.  D.,  Ph.  D. — and  any  other 
D  in  the  alphabet  you  happen  to  think  of?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  the  English  artist,  or  the  young 
American  physician,  Dr.  Philip  May?  "  asked  Hart, 
with  interest. 

"  The  American.  But  surgeon  suits  him  better, 
I  understand." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  does.  He  treated  me  last  year 
at  Baden  Baden.  A  fine-looking  man — wears  a 
short,  dark,  pointed  beard.  But  I  didn't  take  him 
for  a  Jew." 

"Ha,  ha!  that  last  hits  him  off  capitally.  He 
has  made  quite  a  record  for  himself  in  the  cutting 
business  since  his  return  here." 

"I  met  Dr.  May  to-night,"  Jean  hastened  to 
inform  them.  "He  is  the  son  of  my  uncle's  old 


96  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

friend,  Mr.  Joseph  May.    I  had  not  heard  of  any 
wonderful  operation  of  his  in  this  town." 

Davis  threw  back  his  head  in  a  paroxysm  of 
laughter.  "  That's  one  on  you,  Miss  Willard,"  he 
cried.  "  What!  You  haven't  heard  of  that  already 
celebrated  cutting  affray  of  his  on  Kearney  Street 
last  Saturday  night?" 

"  Cutting  affray?  " 

"Let's  have  it,  Vic,"  exclaimed  Brookman, 
voicing  the  contagion  of  the  young  fellow's  evident 
excitement. 

"  It's  not  a  long  story.  You  know  Sam  Weiss?  " 

"  Yes."  The  affirmation  was  unanimous — they 
all  knew  the  song-and-dance  amateur. 

"  Do  you  agree  with  me  that  he's  an  all-round 
good  fellow — give  the  coat  off  his  back  for  a  friend 
— and  all  the  rest  of  the  cardinal  virtues?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  Brookman,  seriously.  He  was  apt 
to  indorse  all  Davis's  tastes  and  sentiments.  The 
women  were  silent. 

"  Well,  it  seems  he  and  Phil  May  were  school 
mates  once  upon  a  time,  and  as  intimate  as  May's 
peculiar  oysterdom  and  royal  loneliness  permitted. 
Sam  has  always  taken  great  stock  in  May's  success 
— felt  as  though  he  had  had  a  hand  in  it  in  some 
occult  way,  and  was  delighted  over  the  thought 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY  97 

that  his  old  chum  was  coming  to  settle  here.  Well, 
last  Saturday  night,  as  you  can  imagine,  he  was 
tickled  to  death  to  come  upon  him  at  the  corner  of 
Market  and  Kearney  streets." 

By  some  inexplicable  attraction,  the  animated 
dark  eyes  had  come  to  rest  upon  Jean  Willard's 
attentive  face,  and  to  her  he  addressed  the  story 
of  the  short  encounter  in  his  own  terse,  slangy 
expressiveness.  "  Gave  him  the  glassy  eye,  you 
understand,"  he  concluded,  with  a  shrug,  "  in  the 
full  electric  light  and  gaze  of  two  of  Weiss's 
friends." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  quickly,  before  the  disgusted 
expressions  on  the  faces  of  the  others  could  find 
vent  in  words.  "  But  that  remark  about  Moses — 
wasn't  it  rather  far-fetched?  " 

Davis  looked  at  her  pityingly.  "  Joseph  May 
kept  a  clothing  store  in  days  of  gold,"  he  explained, 
concisely.  "  But  Weiss  is  only  a  case  in  point. 
Dr.  May  has  been  pleased  to  state  his  attitude  in 
unmistakable  terms  of  frost  to  several  other  Jews 
of  former  acquaintance — and — mark  my  words — 
he  won't  have  to  wait  till  the  long  run  to  hear  from 
them  in  return.  I  don't  happen  to  be  honored  with 
his  acquaintance,  but  just  as  an  expression  of  opin 
ion,  I'd  like  to — kick — kick — him — from — here — 


98  HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

to — Jerusalem!  "  The  clan  spirit  was  up  in  arms. 
His  loud,  frank  voice  had  sunk  with  the  last  words 
to  a  peculiar,  slow  quietude. 

"  Save  him  the  trouble  of  rolling  there  on  resur 
rection  day,  eh?"  laughed  Brookman,  approv 
ingly.  "  But  what's  the  matter  with  him?  Strikes 
me  we're  as  good  as  the  next  ones.  What's  want 
ing?  Look  at  me.  Look  at  my  wife — look  at  my 
children.  We've  as  good  as  the  country  affords. 
Who  has  a  finer  home — who's  better  dressed,  better 
fed,  hey?  My  son  will  have  all  the  education  he's 
fit  for  and  my  daughter  all  the  accomplishments 
going — if  she  wants  'em.  We  help  support  the  the 
aters  and  operas,  and  help  liberally,  by  Jove!  We 
travel,  enjoy  our  money  and  ourselves — and  let 
others  enjoy  our  money  as  well.  Where's  the  kick?  " 

He  basked  broadly  in  the  sun  of  his  prosperity. 
A  great,  genial  satisfaction  shone  from  him  as  he 
spread  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  handsome  chair. 
A  bright  spot  of  flame  sprang  to  his  wife's  cheek. 
Her  eyes  and  lips  smiled  non-committally — she 
made  no  comment. 

"  Oh,  you  forgot,"  laughed  Paul,  "  that  when 
Jeshurun  waxes  fat,  he  kicks.  Dr.  May  is  only  a 
modern  example.  He  has  evidently  weighed  the 
pros  and  cons  of  the  situation,  and  given  himself 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY  99 

over  to  the  heavy-weight.  Taking  a  Dreyfus  on 
Devil's  Island  as  a  basis  for  action — who  can  blame 
him?  " 

"  By  God!  "  exclaimed  Brookman,  raising  his  fist 
to  heaven.  The  exclamation  had  no  bearing  upon 
Philip  May — it  was  but  the  suffocated  protest 
against  the  crime  of  a  nation  over  which  the  heart 
of  every  reading  Jew  was  bursting  with  bitter 
indignation. 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  know  your  Mr.  Weiss/'  inter 
posed  Mr.  Hart,  after  an  eloquent  pause,  "  but  I  do 
know  Dr.  May,  and  I  can  readily  imagine  his  not 
relishing  being  slapped  on  the  shoulder  by  certain 
people — to  say  nothing,  figuratively  speaking,  of  a 
certain  style  of  voice.  But  that  doesn't  prove  he 
has  drawn  the  line  at  all  Jews.  He  is  far  too  sensi 
ble." 

"And  one  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer," 
suggested  Laura,  gently. 

"  I  told  you  Weiss  is  only  one  of  many,"  reiter 
ated  Davis,  hotly.  "And,  among  other  tales,  I 
have  heard  that  old  man  May  told  some  fellow 
that  it  will  be  impossible  for  his  son  to  join  the 
Verein,  or  any  other  club,  for  that  matter." 

"  Neblich"  murmured  Brookman,  with  a  sor 
rowful  shake  of  the  head. 


100         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Don't  you  think/'  began  Jean,  very  quietty, 
"  that  we  judge  too  quickly  where  our  proverbial 
sensitiveness  is  concerned?  If  Philip  May  has  seen 
fit  to  act  as  Mr.  Davis  says  -he  has,  how  do  we  know 
what  he  has  in  view?  How  do  we  know  what  ambi 
tion  or  ambitions  are  leading  him,  and  how  old  ties 
may  hamper  him?  His  social  standards  and  tastes 
are  not  necessarily  the  same  as  ours.  His  accom 
plishments  and  wit  may  have  traveled  beyond  a 
coon-song  or  an  Orpheum  joke — they  may  even 
fail  to  see  the  point  in  those  diverting  Jewish 
stories  in  Puck  and  other  witty  periodicals.  Do 
we  know  all  his  life  holds  ?  May  there  not  be  a  pas 
sage  in  his  which  might  explain — excuse — not  only 
a  distaste,  but  a  hatred  of  all  Jews?  Isn't  life  full 
of  unthought-of  possibilities?  Must  we  still  con 
tinue  not  only  to  judge,  but  to  condemn,  everybody 
according  to  our  own  little  lights?  " 

As  she  made  her  low-voiced  plea  for  the  develop 
ment  of  individuality  at  any  cost,  Laura  eyed  her 
curiously. 

"  Come,  come,  Jean,"  drawled  Paul  Stein,  iron 
ically,  "  how  can  you  waste  so  much  good  interest 
on  a  fellow  who  has  such  a  low  opinion  of  his  breed 
ing  that  he  has  quit  bowing  to  himself?  My  dear 
girl,  we  don't  need  Philip  May." 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY          101 

"  I  was  speaking  in  the  abstract/'  lied  the  girl, 
glibly.  "  But  as  to  needing  him,  Paul — you  spoke 
differently  last  week.  Why,  he  was  to  be  a  sort  of 
representative,  an  edition  de  luxe,  the  Jewish  chef- 
d'oeuvre  of  San  Francisco;  you  were  so  anxious  to 
meet  him — he  was  going  to  be  such  a  stimulus!  " 

The  attorney  looked  at  her  musingly.  "  Yes," 
he  said.  "  I  had  read  one  or  two  of  his  articles  in 
medical  reviews  and  was  captivated  by  the  virility 
of  the  man's  style,  concluding  that  the  style  was  the 
man.  It  seems  I  was  mistaken.  Unfortunately, 
I  have  not  yet  attained  the  Christian  humility  of 
turning  the  second  cheek.  I  have  this  minute  dis 
covered  that  there  is  a  rather  strong  party  spirit 
in  me,  and  I  can't,  in  all  consciousness,  try  as  I 
may,  assume  the  brilliant,  disinterested  amusement 
of  laughing  stars  high  out  of  the  heart  of  life.  But 
Philip  May  is  only  a  result  of  existing  conditions, 
a  sign  of  the  times — set  upon  a  height.  He  is  not 
a  type — he  is  only  one  of  those  inevitable,  recurrent 
figures,  dominant  and  bitter,  pitting  himself  against 
fate  in  vain.  The  thing  is,  what  does  he  want, 
will  he  get  it,  is  the  game  worth  the  candle? 

"  Oh,  among  ourselves  we  know  that  individu 
ally,  feature  for  feature,  we  are  all  beautiful" — he 
grinned  benignly  upon  them — "  but  outside,  among 


102         HEIKS    OP    YESTERDAY 

others,  en  masse,  our  tout-ensemble! — oh,  my  chil 
dren!  "  He  covered  his  face  with  his  sinewy  hand. 
A  laugh  of  responsive  understanding  encouraged 
him  further. 

"  And  we  can  laugh,  nevertheless,"  he  granted 
them,  "  because  we  know  that,  inwardly,  we're  the 
right  stuff,  good  backbone  stuff,  which  it  would 
be  folly  to  eliminate  from  the  civic  anatomy. 
How's  that  for  fairness,  Mr.  Hart?  " 
"  Not  bad.  Go  ahead.  Diagnose  us." 
"  Oh,  talk,  though  cheap,  is  often  extravagant," 
laughed  Paul.  "  But  I  like  to  splurge  in  that  line 
once  in  a  while,  and  can  afford  it — if  you  can  afford 
the  listening.  Of  course,  we  know  the  ignominies 
of  the  past  against  which  we  are  still  combating: 
that  to-day  we  excuse  ourselves  on  the  score  of 
being  descendants,  often  to  the  exclusion  of  the 
more  vital  responsibility  that  to-day  will  be  yes 
terday  to-morrow,  and  that  some  day  we  will  be 
ancestors.  But  we  know,  besides,  the  wheels 
within  wheels — we  know  there  are  gradations.  We 
don't  judge  every  rich  Jew  by  the  first  flamboyant, 
gold-congested  parvenu  we  happen  to  meet  in  his 
mansion  on  the  heights,  nor  every  poor  Jew  by  the 
ignorant,  sing-songing  old  clo'  man  south  of  Mar 
ket  Street.  We  even  admit  that  if,  now  and  then, 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         103 

the  one  on  the  top  were  to  exchange  places  with  the 
one  at  the  bottom  it  would  be  a  good  game  of  puss- 
in-the-corner.  But  think  of  cramming  all  Jewry 
— think  of  cramming  one  complex  Jewish  soul  into 
an  epigram!  Why,  we  bulge  over  and  out  of  every 
part  of  it.  And  yet,  to  some  people,  Judaism" 
still  means  an  old  man  who  speaks  gibberish,  wears 
a  beard  and  a  praying -shawl,  and  whose  golden  rule 
is  '  Do  others  or  others  will  do  you.' r 

"By  Jove,"  cried  Davis,  approvingly,  "we're 
not  such  an  uninteresting  lot,  after  all." 

"Oh,  you're  the  sort  that  likes  to  be  sugared 
over  and  swallowed  whole  in  audible  contentment," 
laughed  Paul,  sarcastically.  "  Few  Jews  can  stand 
adverse  criticism,  and  that's  what  keeps  so  many  of 
them  from  taking  on  the  little  outward  graces  that 
count  for  so  much.  But  don't  imagine  I  think 
we've  cornered  the  brain  and  virtue  market  of  the 
world.  We're  first-rate  students  because  no  power 
on  earth  can  beat  us  in  that  intensity  of  purpose — 
born  of  the  old-time  restriction — of  doing  the  best 
we  can  with  our  only  unfilchable  property — our 
brains;  we  are  great  financiers  through  enforced 
specialization;  we  are  thrifty  and  industrious 
because  we've  had  to  fight  for  every  right  of  posses 
sion  inch  by  inch ;  we  care  for  our  poor  as  no  other 


104         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

poor  are  cared  for,  because  we  were  once  one  in 
misery,  because  we  can't  climb  effectually  without 
pulling  our  weaker  ones  up  with  us,  and  because 
it  was  only  on  the  condition  that  the  Jewish  poor 
would  not  become  a  burden  on  the  community  that 
the  Jews  were  first  granted  settlement  in  the  New 
World.  I  can  laugh  good-naturedly  enough,  Jean, 
over  the  wit  of  Puck's  stories  when  our  shrewdness, 
or  features,  or  mannerisms  are  the  point  of  ridicule. 
I'm  not  like  the  cultured  Irishman  who  sets  his 
teeth  at  the  sight  of  printed  brogue — but  when  it 
comes  to  libeling  our  honesty  and  labeling  the  race 
with  certain  low-down  propensities,  I  draw  the  line. 
We've  had  enough  of  tradition.  Yet,  you  see,  all 
our  civic  virtues  lie  rooted  in  some  hard,  grim,  ugly 
fact,  and  I  agree  with  Dr.  May — the  looking-back 
vision  is  not  pretty — the  harking-back  accent  is  not 
musical.  But  though  I  too  would  cover  it  over, 
would  say  '  hush '  to  it,  the  very  knowledge  of 
the  cause  of  its  ugliness  would  make  me  say  it  in 
another  tone  than  that  of  shame."  He  paused  with 
quivering  nostril  and  compressed  lip. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  cared  so  much  for  your 
religion,"  said  Jean,  a  great  wave  of  emotion  thrill 
ing  her  voice  strangely. 

"  Neither  did  I."     He  smiled  wearily.  "  But  it's 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         105 

no  longer  a  matter  of  religion — think  of  a  man's 
religious  thoughts  having  anything  to  do  with  his 
success  or  non-success  in  this  material  age!  No, 
it's  something  more  tragic — it's  a  matter  of  race — 
and  there  is  no  way  out  of  that  except  by  the  slow 
honeymoon  route  of  intermarriage.  Well?  Queer 
how  these  forces  lie  silent  in  one,  covered  over  by 
the  day's  battle." 

"  That's  no  fairy-tale/'  agreed  Davis,  in  hearty 
seriousness.  "For  my  part,  being  a  Jew  doesn't 
bother  me  much  the  year  round,  except  when  New 
Year's  or  Atonement  Day  comes  along,  and  we 
have  to  close  up  shop." 

"  But  there's  one  little  cynicism  of  yours  I  wish 
you  would  qualify,  Paul,"  interposed  Jean,  ear 
nestly,  "  and  that  is  your  remark  about  the  virtue 
of  the  race.  Surely  you  know  there  are  no  happier 
homes  in  the  world  than  Jewish  homes,  and  that 
fact  usually  bespeaks  virtue." 

"  There's  that  sweet  tooth  again,"  Paul  returned, 
reproachfully.  "  Of  course  we're  a  temperate  lot 
— even  at  the  lowest  pitch  we  don't  drink,  or  beat 
our  wives.  But  omitting  the  many  love-matches — 
God  bless  'em! — when  you  come  to  think  of  the 
many  others,  the  mercenary  and  manufactured 
ones,  in  which  the  girls  are  supposed  to  love  the 


106         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

men  they're  told  to  love — surely  you  don't  still 
cherish  that  beautiful,  primitive  dream  of  univer 
sal  peace,  happiness  and  fidelity?  " 

"  That  sounds  interesting/'  said  Hart,  pulling 
up  a  chair  finally,  and  seating  himself  in  a  leaning 
attitude  of  rapt  attention. 

"But  the  insinuation  is  not  true,"  combated 
Jean,  flashing  round  upon  him,  overwhelming  him 
in  the  sudden  passion  of  her  eyes.  "  Ninety-nine 
and  a  half  Jewish  marriages  out  of  a  hundred  are 
happy  and — and  honorable." 

"  Bravo!  But  how  about  that  half  case?  "  ques 
tioned  Paul,  quietly. 

"  Something  keeps  it  from  becoming  a  whole 
case"  was  the  swift,  fearless,  pure-eyed  response. 

"Indeed?  What?"  murmured  Paul,  smiling 
gently. 

"  Ask  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brookman,"  cried  Davis. 
"  They  should  make  pretty  reliable  witnesses." 

Brookman  shook  a  reproving  finger  at  him. 
"  We  belong  to  the  God  bless  'em  crowd,"  he  said, 
comfortably. 

Mrs.  Brookman  laughed  lightly. 

"  However,  Mr.  Brookman,"  broke  in  Jean, 
playfully,  feeling  a  certain  tension  in  the  turn  of 
subject,  "  tell  us  why  a  Jewess,  even  without  the 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         107 

grand  passion  as  a  nucleus,  always  loves  the  man 
she  marries." 

"  Because  her  mamma  tells  her  to/'  laughed  the 
great,  good-natured  fellow,  with  supreme  satisfac 
tion. 

"  And,  Laura,  how  about  the  man?  Why  does 
a  Jew  always  love  his  wife?  " 

"  From  an  inherited,  unconquerable  sense  of 
duty."  The  caustic  flippancy  drew  a  laugh.  Brook- 
man  gallantly  returned  her  a  military  salute. 

"  Not  bad,  so  far  as  they  go,"  remarked  Stein, 
abruptly.  "But,  merely  as  a  looker-on,  might  I 
say,  supposing  your  conclusions  to  be  true — she 
loves  him,  finally,  because  he  is  the  father  of  her 
children,  and  he  loves  her  because  she  is  his — his 
property,  I  mean." 

The  brutal  words  stilled  the  air. 

"Jean,  will  you  play  for  us?"  Laura  Brook- 
man's  light  voice  broke  the  scarcely  perceptible 
awkwardness. 

The  girl  arose  at  once,  Stein  following  her  leis 
urely  to  the  piano. 

"  You  are  hateful  to-night,"  she  vouchsafed  him 
in  a  low  voice  as  she  seated  herself  and  he  leaned 
against  the  instrument. 


108         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  You  are  inharmonious  to-night,"  he  retorted. 
"  I  detected  it  as  soon  as  you  came  in." 

She  ceased  to  look  at  his  provoking  face.  Her 
fingers  ran  over  the  keys. 

"  I  can't  play,"  she  said  after  a  minute,  letting 
her  hands  fall  into  her  lap. 

"  You  can't,  but  you  will,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  you  always  do — you  always  believe, 
even — in  spite  of  things.  Isn't  that  your  hercu 
lean  motto?  Then  play." 

She  began,  her  eyes  upon  his  thin,  plain  face. 
Then  she  forgot  him  and  played  on. 

"What  is  it?"  he  murmured,  when  her  hands 
rested,  carried  away,  despite  his  disturbed  mood,  by 
the  exquisite  grace  and  mystery  of  the  music. 

"  A  poem  of  MacdowelPs.  Perhaps  afterward, 
Laura,"  she  said,  turning  her  head  in  answer.  "  Ask 
Mr.  Davis  to  sing  a  coon-song  for  us,  will  you, 
Paul?" 

"  What!  after  your  little  flip  at  the  coon-singing 
genus?" 

"  I  didn't."  The  girl  flushed  distressfully.  "  I 
couldn't — besides  I  like  them — the  songs — too 
much." 

"  You  could  and  you  did.    On  impulse  you  can 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         109 

do  anything,  friend  o'  mine.  But  don't  torture 
your  sensitive  conscience — you  haven't  hurt  him. 
He  belongs  to  the  breed  that  always  thinks  you're 
pointing  to  the  fellow  behind.  Ask  him,  and  prove 
me." 

He  came  delightedly,  flattered  by  the  request, 
singing  song  after  song  to  her  swinging  accom 
paniment  with  all  the  jubilant  rhythm,  the 
peculiar  darky  joy,  which  make  the  coon-song  so 
unmistakably  a  song  of  color,  not  omitting  sev 
eral  inimitable  cake-walk  steps,  as  though  his  feet 
must,  perforce,  respond  to  the  charm. 

He  swung  off  finally,  and  Jean  found  Theodore 
Hart  leaning  on  the  piano  in  Paul  Stein's  place. 
He  spoke  of  music — he  had  heard  much — tenta 
tively  watching  her  face.  Jean  questioned  him 
carelessly,  unaccountably  annoyed  over  the  fact 
that  the  man's  eyes  and  ears  were  frankly  absorbed 
in  her.  She  knew  that  Charlie  Brookman  and  Vic 
Davis  were  holding  a  laughing  chat  in  the  corner, 
that  Laura  and  Paul  Stein  were  seated  together  on 
the  couch,  evidently  talking  fitfully,  the  former 
gazing  before  her,  her  elbow  crushed  in  the  pillow 
behind,  the  latter  bent  upon  disentangling  a  piece 
of  cord  fantastically  twisted  about  his  fingers. 


110         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

Their  attitudes  disturbed  her  indefinably.  The  evi 
dent  admiration  of  the  man  near  her  irritated  her. 

"You  are  a  champion  worth  having,"  he  was 
saying.  "Your  views  are  broad — broader  than 
most  women's." 

Broad!  When  she  had  been  narrowing  them  to 
fit  the  case  of  one  man!  She  stared  at  him  coldly. 
Yes,  Paul  was  right — she  appeared  and  felt  inhar 
monious. 

She  was  glad,  a  little  later,  to  find  herself  on  the 
street  alone  with  Stein,  glad  of  his  uncompromising 
silence.  The  wind  had  abated,  the  fog  was  dis 
sipated,  the  air  was  crisp  and  bracing,  the  stars 
twinkled  in  cold  brilliance.  The  two  friends 
climbed  the  hills  with  long,  quick  strides,  inti 
mately  still. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Thus  did  Philip  May  set  about  defying  and 
humbugging  tradition,  the  present — and  himself. 
He  was  young,  he  was  strong,  he  was  free — he 
acknowledged  no  overlord  but  his  own  will  and 
inclination.  The  adverse  past  he  simply  kicked  off 
as  a  man  might  a  pair  of  shoes  grown  shabby  or 
uncomfortable,  the  only  apparent  obstacle  to  his 
consequent  comfort  being  his  frequent  stumblings 
against  the  discarded  in  unconsidered  places. 

During  the  first  two  weeks  following  the  memo 
rable  evening  of  his  return  and  the  anti-climax  of 
the  wordless  reconciliation  between  his  father  and 
himself,  he  found  little  time  for  introspection  or 
politic  forethought.  His  professional  reputation 
had  preceded  him  through  his  writings,  and  chance, 
in  the  form  of  mischance  for  others,  came  to  greet 
him.  Dr.  Otis,  succumbing  to  a  contingency  of  the 
grip,  was  forced  to  put  his  patients  and  himself  in 
other  hands — whereby  two  of  the  most  critical 
operations  of  his  experience  fell  to  Philip  May's 
account.  The  fortunate  victims  happened  to  be 


112         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

men  prominent  in  the  city's  doings,  and  the  fame  of 
the  newcomer's  hand  of  steel  might  have  spread 
sensationally,  had  not  the  young  physician's  pro 
fessional  reticence  saved  him  from  that  indignity  of 
popular  quackery.  He  was  used  to  success,  and 
dismissed  it  with  matter-of-fact  brevity. 

Virtually,  however,  it  was  not  to  be  thus  dis 
missed.  The  personal  attraction  of  the  man 
brought  his  name  too  easily  to  the  lips  of  those 
with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  Lilian  Otis,  wel 
coming  him,  not  only  as  the  devoted  friend  and 
attendant  of  her  cousin,  John  Harleigh,  but  as 
one  of  the  most  abiding  memories  of  her  last  Euro 
pean  jaunt,  gladly  added  these  later  credentials 
after  presenting  him  or  his  name  to  the  inner  court 
of  her  charming  and  influential  set.  Within  a 
month  he  felt  his  grasp  firm  upon  the  life  upon 
which  he  had  entered. 

With  a  single  exception:  he  had  effectually 
barred  himself  out  of  the  proud,  silent  heart  of  his 
father.  Nominally  drawn  together  under  the  same 
roof,  they  were  more  grimly  estranged  than  they 
had  been  when  divided  by  a  continent  and  sea.  Any 
effort  toward  the  simplest  converse  was  strained 
and  painful.  Philip  felt  the  lack  of  intimacy,  but 
recognized  it  as  another  insurmountable  proof  of 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         113 

their  being  kindred  only  through  accident  of  birth. 
Joseph  May,  exponent  of  the  most  intense  and  sen 
sitive  race  under  the  sun  in  the  matter  of  family 
ties,  crushed  his  knowledge  into  the  bitter  pill  of 
lovelessness,  and  chewed  it,  folding  his  lips  close 
over  the  bitterness  in  that  wildest  of  all  misery — 
misery  which  keeps  its  mouth  shut.  Even  Daniel 
Willard  heard  no  further  word  of  complaint  or 
reproach.  His  talk  of  him  was  full  of  boast  and 
bluster. 

"Never  he  gives  himself  any  rest/'  he  said, 
with  a  helpless  shrug  of  indulgent  pride.  "  When 
he  don't  go  nights  to  the  hospital,  he  writes  or 
studies,  and  when  he  don't  write  nor  study  he  has 
a  call  to  make,  or  something  like  that.  Last  night 
he  wanted  I  should  take  a  walk  with  him.  But 
what  for?  I  was  tired,  and  better  he  goes  with 
younger  men.  But  he  likes  it  when  Jean  plays. 
One  night  he  most  broke  his  appointment  because 
he  waited  till  she  finished." 

"  I  shall  ask  him  to  dine  with  us  Sedar  night," 
said  Daniel,  dealing  the  cards  in  absent  fashion. 
"  I  have  not  seen  so  much  of  him  as  I  should  like, 
and  that  will  be  a  good  chance.  We  shall  have  no 
one  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brookman  and  Paul  Stein, 
and  you  two.  Then  he  can  ask  Jean  to  play  what- 


114         HEIKS    OF    YESTERDAY 

ever  he  likes — after  the  singing  is  over.  Do  you 
think  he  will  come,  Joseph  ?  " 

"You  can  ask  him. — Forty  kings — a  tierce  to 
the  jack. — Jean  is  a  nix-nuts.  Never  she  comes 
to  see  me  no  more." 

"No?"  said  Daniel,  discarding  as  if  in  deep 
thought.  "  She  is  a  little  busy  with  the  Boys' 
Club.  Particularly  with  one  of  the  boys — little 
Joel  Slinsky.  You  should  see  some  of  the  drawings 
he  makes  of  the  people  of  his  neighborhood — 
unconscious  caricatures  of  the  Russian  Jew.  But 
to  me  it  is  not  all  funny.  Jean  does  not  mean 
to  neglect  you;  she  asks  how  you  are  feeling  every 
day." 

"  So,"  commented  Joseph.  But  in  some  man 
ner,  too  subtle  for  his  denning,  he  knew  that  the 
sudden  ceasing  of  the  girl's  unceremonious  comings 
and  goings  had  coincided  with  the  advent  of  his 
son.  And  another  dream  was  laid  aside  with  his 
broken  potsherds. 

And  Jean,  during  the  two  or  three  weeks  fol 
lowing  her  evening  with  the  Brookmans,  had  been 
quietly,  though  uncertainly,  divorcing  herself  from 
the  same  romance.  Final  proof  of  his  positive 
alienation  was  still  wanting,  and  a  loyal  spirit 
breaks  its  idols  slowly.  But  her  days  were  occu- 


HEIRS    OP    YESTERDAY         115 

pied  with  her  customary  obligations  and  pleasures, 
many  self-imposed,  many  necessary,  and  she 
allowed  herself  no  quarter  for  a  morbid  sentiment. 
Stephen  Forrest  was  harassing  her  with  impor 
tunate  letters,  so  passionately  pleading  against  her 
dogged  stand,  so  ironically  bitter  against  his  lim 
ited  opportunities,  so  humorously  humble,  that 
sympathy  was  playing  ball  with  her  resolution. 

Besides,  the  gods  were  with  her,  for  the  moment, 
in  giving  her  another  Nemesis  to  contend  with. 
Theodore  Hart,  who,  before  meeting  her,  had  lived 
all  things  but  a  pure  passion,  had  been  suddenly, 
surprisingly,  overwhelmed  by  that  novelty  and 
given  himself  wholly  to  its  influence.  With  all  his 
intentions  written  openly  in  his  attentions,  in  the 
good,  old-fashioned  Jewish  way,  he  had  come  to 
tempt  her  from  her  moorings.  He  represented  the 
carnival,  the  luxe  of  life — he  represented  to  her 
clear-eyed,  end-of-the-nineteenth-century  knowl 
edge,  all  gifts — save  one.  And  in  the  material  sun 
light  of  the  end  of  the  century  he  easily  stood  for 
a  temptation. 

In  withdrawing  from  her  pretty  old-time  inti 
macy  with  Joseph  May,  she  had  not  forgotten  that 
it  would  hurt  and  astonish  him,  but  she  was  deter 
mined  to  risk  no  running  against  Philip  May's  cour- 


116         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

teous  surprise  should  he  happen  upon  her  innocent 
familiarity  with  his  household. 

However,  pulling  down  a  blind  one  morning 
before  setting  out  for  town,  she  espied  her  old 
friend  pacing  the  safe  back  porch  in  smoking-jacket 
and  velvet  skull-cap,  and  she  was  down  upon  him 
in  a  minute. 

"  Good  morning.,  Uncle  Joseph,"  she  sang  out, 
blithely ;  "  why  aren't  you  down  at  your  office  this 
sunny  morning?  " 

The  stocky  figure  stopped  short.  "Good  morn 
ing,  Miss  Willard,"  he  returned,  with  biting  dig 
nity.  "  I  am  surprised  you  still  know  me." 

"  Miss  Willard,  indeed,  old  humbug!  Aren't  you 
ashamed  of  yourself?  Kiss  me  and  tell  me  why 
you  are  still  at  home  at  half -past  ten?  " 

He  submitted  his  forehead  to  her  imperious 
caress.  "  I  have  a  little  headache,"  he  explained, 
with  an  unintentional  sigh,  "  and  my  son  said  bet 
ter  I  don't  go  to  the  office.  I  telephoned  your 
uncle  when  there  is  any  important  mail  he  shall 
come  up  with  it." 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  in  town? 
I  have  some  shopping  to  do  and — .  But  there  is 
Uncle  Daniel  now." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         117 

He  came  hurriedly  out  of  Joseph's  doorway,  a 
look  of  concern  furrowing  his  brow. 

"Feeling  a  little  lazy  this  morning,,  Joseph?" 
he  asked,  brightly,  laying  his  arm  across  the  stoop 
ing  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  so-so.  Nothing  to  speak  about;  but  when 
you  have  a  doctor  in  the  house  always  you  can  find 
a  little  pain.  What  you  got  there,  Daniel?  " 

"  Only  a  catalogue  of  the  sale  of  the  Powers 
estate."  He  handed  him  the  booklet.  "Well, 
Jean,  have  you  and  Joseph  been  making  up  ?  " 

"He  calls  me  Miss  Willard,"  she  answered,  in 
mock  despair,  "  and  is  altogether  very  proud  and 
haughty.  But  if  he  doesn't  behave,  he  can't  come 
to  our  dinner  party,  can  he,  Uncle  Daniel?  " 

"What  dinner  party?"  asked  the  old  man, 
smoothing  her  hand  as  it  lay  upon  his  arm.  "  You 
know  I  don't  go  to  dinner  parties." 

"  But  considering  that  you  come  every  year 


"  Oh,  you  mean  the  Sedar.  When  it  is,  Daniel?" 
At  that  moment  the  door  giving  upon  the  porch 

was  again  hastily  opened  and  Philip  May  appeared 

upon  the  threshold. 

"  Don't  let  me  startle  you,"  he  laughed,  coming 


118         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

out,  as  his  father  rose  nervously  from  the  settee. 
"  Nothing  is  wrong,  father.  I  have  just  remem 
bered  that  I  forgot  to  tell  Katie  about  a  box  of 
books  that  is  coming  for  me.  How  is  your  head?  " 
He  stood  beside  him,  an  attractive,  manly  figure, 
hat  in  hand.  Jean  leaned  against  the  box  of 
mignonette  on  the  rail,  clasping  her  gloves. 

"  It  is  still  a  little  heavy,'7  returned  Joseph, 
reseating  himself.  "  But  that  will  go  soon." 

"  With  the  morning — if  you  keep  quiet.  By  the 
way,  Mr.  Willard,  I  have  intended  dropping  in 
upon  you  some  evening,  but  have  not  yet  found  the 
opportunity.  I'm  glad  of  the  chance  of  telling  you 
I'm  coming,  just  the  same."  He  smiled,  winningly 
holding  out  a  hand. 

"  I  understand,"  returned  Daniel,  without  a 
trace  of  resentment.  "  But  we  were  just  asking 
your  father  to  dine  with  us  on  the  second  of  next 
month  in  the  hope  that  you  would  come  too." 

"  The  second — second — .  I  should  be  delighted, 
but  it  seems  to  me  something  was  said  about  that 
date."  He  pressed  his  hand  to  his  brow.  "Ah, 
yes,"  his  eyes  lightened.  "  Otis — an  engagement 
made  a  month  ago.  Well,  I  am  truly  sorry,  but  if  i 
can  break  away,  I'll  drop  in  upon  you  during  the 
evening.  Next  Tuesday,  isn't  it?  I  shall  not  for- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         119 

get.  Good  morning.  Good  morning,  Miss  Wil- 
lard."  The  next  minute  he  had  passed  through  the 
doorway,  an  utter  stranger  to  the  girl. 

"  You  did  not  say  whether  I  could  get  anything 
for  you  in  town,  Uncle  Joseph,"  she  resumed,  com 
ing  toward  the  two  old  gentlemen,  the  pretty  note 
of  her  voice  slightly  strained.  And  then  she 
noticed  that  the  catalogue  in  the  dark- veined  hands 
was  waving  as  if  in  a  violent  wind,  that  the  heavy 
eyes  were  raised  apologetically  to  her,  seeking  to 
cry  down  some  unspeakable  pain. 

"Will  you  ask  Katie?"  he  returned,  slowly, 
speaking  correctly,  as  he  sometimes  did  when  under 
stress  of  a  relentless  spur.  "  She  said  something  to 
me  to-day  about  curtains.  Will  you  ask  her,  please  ? 
And,  Jean,  my  dear,  you  know  Philip  is  very  busy 
— and  he  has  many  invitations — and  he  cannot 
always  arrange  his  time.  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
it  is  anything  else."  He  did  not  look  toward  Dan 
iel — he  addressed  his  half -plea,  half -apology,  away 
from  the  eyes  of  his  friend. 

The  girl  flushed  under  the  old  man's  ponderous 
artlessness  as  she  would  not  have  done  in  a  more 
worldly  atmosphere.  But  her  uncle  saved  her  an 
evasion. 

"Surely,    Joseph,"    came    the    brisk,    cheery 


120         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

rebuke,  "  you  cannot  think  we  would  doubt  his  sin 
cerity.  It  is  only  surprising  that  a  man  like  Dr. 
May  has  not  always  a  previous  engagement";  and 
he  laughed  over  his  little  conceit,  meeting  Joseph's 
eyes  with  frank  cloudlessness. 

Jean  went  in  to  consult  the  housekeeper. 

"  Oh,  no,  Katie,"  she  answered,  decidedly,  when 
that  functionary  had  made  known  her  wants.  "Let 
Dr.  May  furnish  his  own  study.  Is  that  all?  " 

"  But,  Miss  Jean,  you  always  does  choose  them 
things  for  us,  and  how  can  you  ask  a  man  to  know 
anything  about  it?"  She  was  following  her  per 
suasively  through  the  hall. 

"  I  have  told  you,  Katie,  that  it  is  impossible," 
she  reiterated,  turning  quietly  upon  her.  "  No 
doubt  Dr.  May  has  every  intention  of  choosing  his 
own  carpet  or  rugs."  Her  sentence  halted — a  foot 
fall  upon  the  stairs  apprising  her  that  Dr.  May  was 
still  in  the  house.  She  wished  herself  well  out  of 
the  door — in  Jericho — anywhere  but  there. 

"  Well,  there  now,  Fll  just  ask  him,"  exclaimed 
the  woman,  planting  her  hands  triumphantly  upon 
her  hips  as  he  came  down  the  stairs  at  the  foot 
of  which  they  were  standing.  "  I've  been  asking 
Miss  Jean,  Dr.  Philip,  to  get  them  things  for  your 
study,  and  she  says  as  you  knows  more  about  it 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEKDAY         121 

than  she  do  and  will  be  wanting  to  be  doing  of  it 
all  yourself.  Is  that  true,  now?  " 

Philip,  standing  on  the  last  step,  smiled  amus 
edly,  glancing  down  at  the  distant  dignity  of  the 
girl  in  her  dark  tailor-gown.  The  black  velvet  of 
her  hat  cast  a  soft  shadow  upon  the  creamy  white 
ness  of  her  face.  She  made  a  charming  figure  in 
the  dim  light  of  the  hall. 

"  Her  pleading  is  quite  thrown  away/'  she  has 
tened  to  say,  with  pleasant  carelessness,  turning 
toward  the  door.  "  Your  father  often  used  to  ask 
me  to  relieve  him  of  such  household  nuisances,  but 
this,  of  course,  is  different. 

The  housekeeper  moved  reluctantly  away.  He 
put  out  his  hand  to  take  the  book  from  within  her 
arm. 

"  What  are  you  reading?  "  he  asked,  prolonging 
the  grace  of  the  short  moment.  "  What!  Carlyle? 
You  don't  pretend  to  like  the  old  growler?  " 

"  I  love  him.  He  is  a  fire-god — all  shams  come 
to  his  stake.  And  as  for  me — I'd  like  to  be  his  fuel- 
bearer!  " 

Her  intensities  set  the  healthy  blood  in  his 
young  veins  stirring.  At  least — at  any  rate  her 
eyes  were  irresistibly  lovely.  He  was  forced  to  put 
the  book  back  into  her  hand  as  she  turned  the  door- 


122         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

knob  with  the  other.  "  And  such  violent  cures 
attract  you?  But — one  moment — why  is  this  dif 
ferent?" 

«  Different?  " 

"  Isn't  my  room  part  of  my  father's  house  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  had  forgotten  that.  Why  should  I 
inflict  my  provincial  tastes  upon  you?  Surely,  you 
have  cultivated  your  own,  in  all  things,  in  all  these 
long  years  and  experiences."  She  had  the  door 
open,  was  half  way  down  the  steps,  before  he  could 
decide  whether  in  her  words  or  in  the  nonchalant 
lift  to  her  little  head  had  lain  a  dim  suggestion  of 
contempt.  He  knew  nothing  of  her  but  her  music 
and  the  mutable  gleams  of  thought  fleeting  over 
her  expressive  face.  He  raised  his  brows  in  amuse 
ment  over  the  contempt,  vaguely  surmising  its 
origin. 

A  half  hour  later,  making  his  daily  call  upon  his 
bed-ridden  friend,  Dr.  Otis,  flattered  by  gen 
tle,  white-haired  Mrs.  Otis,  coquetted  with  by  gold 
en-haired  Miss  Otis — in  that  atmosphere  of  accus 
tomed  high  breeding  which  had  become  his  own — 
their  nature  having  grown  his  habit — he  quite  for 
got  the  scarcely  grasped  attraction  ol  Jean  Willard. 
Young  Otis  had  been  haunting  him  like  a  shadow. 
Weeks  before  the  coming  of  Dr.  May,  his  enthus- 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         123 

iasm  had  aroused  the  interest  of  the  quietly  cynical 
"  Omars  "  almost  to  lionizing  pitch,  but  their  curi 
osity  was  forced  to  suspend  judgment  owing  to  the 
jealous  attention  the  doctor  gave  the  unexpected 
practice  which  had  absorbed  him  almost  from  the 
day  of  his  arrival.  He  had,  however,  met  several 
of  the  members  casually,  and  judging  from  these 
glimpses,  he  was  contemplating  with  pleasure  his 
introduction  to  the  modest  little  circle. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  forced  to  break  his  dinner 
engagement  with  Otis  when  the  appointed  evening 
arrived.  "An  unforeseen  consultation  detains 
me,"  his  message  ran,  "  so  be  reasonable,  dine  with 
out  me,  and  I  shall  be  at  your  rooms  as  near  7 :30 
as  will  be  possible,  that  you  may  coach  me  in  regard 
to  those  club  matters,  individualities,  etc.,  which 
are  bothering  your  conscientious  ciceroneship." 

Near  the  hour  named,  Otis  admitted  him.  The 
room  bore  a  company  expectancy  in  the  open  piano, 
the  cards  and  counters  upon  the  table,  the  wine 
cooling  in  the  corner  beside  the  genially  appointed 
buffet. 

"  This  looks  promising,"  remarked  Philip,  put 
ting  down  his  hat  and  topcoat,  and  coming  forward 
to  the  full  light.  With  a  faint  motion,  as  of  weari 
ness  satisfied,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  couch 


124         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

near  the  center  of  the  room  and  glanced  approv 
ingly  about  him.  "  I  regretted  having  to  send  that 
message,  Otis,  but  you  know  a  physician's  time  is 
always  half-mortgaged/' 

"  Yes,  I  was  sorry,"  returned  his  host,  shortly, 
nervously  throwing  one  leg  over  the  other  as  he 
lounged  opposite  in  the  deep-cushioned  easy  chair. 

The  doctor's  quick  ear  detected  an  unfamiliar 
restraint. 

His  expressive  eyebrows  met  in  a  fleeting  ques 
tion.  "  You  had  something  to  tell  me  ?  "  he  asked, 
pleasantly. 

"  Well — yes.  But  of  course — now  that  you  are 
here — "  He  smiled  a  vague  conclusion  to  his  sen 
tence.  Philip  noticed  that,  despite  his  easy  atti 
tude,  the  young  fellow's  supple  hand  was  twitching 
the  heavy  tassel  on  the  chair  arm,  his  glance  rov 
ing  unsteadily  about  the  room. 

"You  would  perhaps  have  asked  me  not  to 
come,  had  we  met  earlier  in  the  evening — is  that 
it?"  he  asked,  with  amused  interest.  "Out  with 
it.  You  are  expecting  somebody  whom  it  would 
be  pleasanter  for  me  not  to  meet?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no.  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  reiterated 
Otis,  with  extravagant  politeness.  "  No  one  is  com- 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         125 

ing  but  Taylor,  and  Griswold,  and  Stephen  Forrest. 
You  have  met  them  all,  I  believe." 

"  All  but  Forrest — and  he  and  I  used  to  be  daily 
neighbors — at  least,  bodily." 

"  So  I  understand.  Were  you — were  you  at  all 
— friendly  during  those  school  days?  "  The  frank, 
clear-eyed  face  was  uncomfortably  flushed,  the  voice 
distant  and  cold. 

Philip's  fine  hand  closed  involuntarily  upon 
itself.  His  intuition  was  on  the  alert.  "  There  was 
no  friendship  between  us,"  he  returned,  candidly. 
"  I  believe  he  considered  me  his  rival — he  was  very 
seriously  ambitious." 

Otis  drew  in  a  deep,  uneasy  breath.  "  As  you 
were.  I — that  may  account  for  his  antagonism — 
although,  of  course,  as  our  electing  is  conducted — 
one  never  knows  who  drops  the  dissenting  ball." 

"You  mean,"  questioned  Philip,  with  reassur 
ing  gentleness,  "  that  my  name  has  been  discred 
ited?" 

"  Oh,  confound  it!  "  burst  forth  the  other,  apo- 
plectically.  "  The  man  has  it  bruited  that  you  are 
a  Jew.  But,  of  course,  I  am  only  waiting  for  your 
denial  of  the  damned  preposterous  libel." 

"Why  damned — why  preposterous?"  He  was 
leaning  forward  as  though  to  study  his  vis-a-vis 


126         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

more  closely.  His  eyes  were  steady,  his  mouth 
half  smiled.  A  slight,  warm  flush  tinged  his  cheek. 

"  But— but  you're  not/'  combated  Otis,  lamely, 
sitting  up  in  consternation. 

"  But  I  am,"  asserted  the  other  in  calm  conclu- 
siveness.  "  Don't  you  see  that  I  am,  now  that  you 
look  at  me  ?  "  He  spoke  kindly,  as  a  superior  might 
lead  a  child  he  desired  to  teach. 

"  Surely  you  never  said — "  began  Otis,  icily. 

ft  You  never  asked." 

K  But  there  are  means  of  apprisal." 

"  I  saw  no  necessity.  The  gates  were  nominally 
down.  You  required  no  passport  proclaiming  the 
contrary." 

"Did  Harleigh  know?" 

"No.     And  if  he  had?" 

"  By  Jove — he  hated  a  hypocrite!  "  The  word 
came  in  resistless  passion. 

"  Which  more — that  or  a  Jew?  " 

"I  must  judge  him  by  myself.  We  out  here 
are  still  unregenerate  enough  to  damn  the  hypo 
crite  with  the  lowest  of  criminals." 

:fYou  mean  you  could  have  forgiven — cared 
for — the  avowed  Jew?  " 

"  Before  the  hypocrite." 

"Bosh!" 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         127 

The  cool  comment  acted  like  a  probe.  Otis's 
hot  young  eyes  met  his  skeptical  challenge  with 
prompt  reply.  "I  admire — respect  many  Jews," 
he  returned  defiantly. 

"  At  a  distance." 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  your  own  birth-place," 
Otis  returned,  quietly.  "  Otherwise  you  would 
know  that  here  and  there  one  meets  a  young  fellow 
who  is  frankly  Jewish,  yet  welcome  in  any  set." 

"Here  and  there.  How  did  the  exceptions 
come  to  be  tolerated?  Was  the  card  of  admission 
heavily  tipped  with  gold,  promising  prodigal 
spending — or  with  the  fame  of  talent,  promising 
rare  entertainment?  You  imply  some  excuse  for 
the  open  door." 

Otis  met  his  gaze  directly,  uncontrolledly  now. 
"  You  are  a  man  of  the  world,"  he  replied,  without 
more  ado.  "  You  know  from  what  center  all  social 
circles  are  drawn.  You  know  equality  rounds 
them  all.  You  also  know — although  you  may 
choose  to  ignore  it — that  not  only  equality  of 
individuality,  but  coincidence  of  family  tradition, 
is  the  barbed  wire  fence  hemming  all  round — and 
out." 

"  And  there  we  naturally  separate,"  supple 
mented  the  apt  pupil,  thoughtfully.  "  But  inform 


128         HEIRS    OP    YESTERDAY 

me  further — I  own  to  a  hitherto  unsuspected 
myopia — what  becomes  then  of  our  grand  scheme 
of  democracy?  What  becomes  of  the  glory  of  the 
self-made  man?  " 

"  A  shibboleth.  There  are  no  self-made  men — 
in  society.  Nor  elsewhere." 

Dr.  May  studied  him.  "  I  think  I  understand 
your  reservation,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "  Then  it 
is  true — the  age  of  miracles  is  past.  The  gods  no 
longer  conceive — we  are  all  essentially  fellow-made. 
What  a  responsibility!  "  He  leaned  forward  in  an 
attitude  of  the  deepest  musing.  Then,  as  with 
a  sudden  start  of  self-consciousness,  he  said 
quickly,  "  But  don't  let  us  trouble  ourselves  with 
the  analysis — it  requires  delicate  handling.  My 
little  venture  was  just  one  of  those  operations,  as 
it  were,  which  we  call  successful  when  the  patient 
does  not  die  under  the  knife,  although  he  may  suc 
cumb  later  to  nature's  weakness  or  unforeseen  com 
plications.  Queer  how  a  man  incognito  may  meet 
all  requirements — and  how,  with  just  a  birth-mark 
exposed,  is  the  same  man  never  again." 

Otis  eyed  him  closely,  with  a  sudden  sharp  pain 
at  heart,  thinking  to  find  in  the  face  the  sarcasm  so 
dangerously  absent  from  the  voice.  But  the  face 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         129 

was  quite  as  quietly  intent — it  wore  the  expression 
of  one  engaged  in  reading  an  interesting,  imper 
sonal  phase  of  life. 

However,  after  a  moment,  "  Confess/7  laughed 
Philip  abruptly,  "  you  feel  as  though  you  had  been 
made  game  of  by  a  clever  rogue." 

"  You  were  under  false  colors/'  Otis  flashed  back 
through  set  teeth. 

"  What!  Under  the  Stars  and  Stripes?  Think 
a  moment,  my  countryman." 

"  By  heavens ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man, 
springing  to  his  feet.  "  Do  you  think  we  can  for 
get  the  man  you  stood  for?  There's  the  torturing 
inconsistency,  of  it — the  honorable  man  of  brains, 
the  perfect,  worshiped  friend,  but — 

"  Yet  a  Jew.  It  is  strange.  No,  don't  torture 
yourself.  Perhaps  even  Harleigh  would  have 
drawn  back  from  the  ugly  revelation.  If  Har 
leigh  had  known,  there  might  never  have  been  a 
friendship — if  there  had  been  no  friendship,  there 
might  never  have  been  a  deception  to  unveil.  Who 
knows?  The  premises  are  too  hypothetical.  There 
is  someone  knocking  at  your  door." 

In  fact,  a  chorus  of  knocks  was  in  progress. 

"You  will  stay,  of  course,"  said  Otis,  quickly. 


130         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  I — I  trust  you  will  not  impute  any  narrow 
prejudice  to  my  attitude.  But  in  my  surprise — . 
I  hope  you  will  stay." 

"  Thank  you.  It  will  be  rather  interesting 
meeting  Stephen  Forrest."  His  perfect  repose, 
judged  in  the  new  light  seemed  merely  a  refined 
impudence.  Otis  turned  from  him  as  from  a 
stranger.  A  new,  subtle  mystery  emanated  from 
him — the  mystery  of  ghostly  ages. 

The  three  men  entered  hilariously,  Stephen  For 
rest  limping  in  last.  At  sight  of  Dr.  May,  who 
had  risen,  a  perceptible  embarrassment  fell 
restrainingly  upon  them.  They  had  counted  upon 
Otis's  averting  his  coming. 

"  You  have  all  met  Dr.  May,  I  think/'  said  Otis, 
off-handedly?  as  Taylor  and  Griswold  bowed.  For 
rest,  with  a  curt  nod,  seated  himself  at  the  table  and 
began  laying  out  the  cards  in  a  game  of  solitaire. 

"  I  scarcely  think  Mr.  Forrest  remembers  me," 
suggested  Philip,  leaning  his  strong,  well-knit 
figure  against  the  piano,  his  eyes  deliberately  fixed 
upon  the  delicate  face  of  the  artist.  "  Yet  we  ran 
each  other  rather  close  when  we  were  youngsters.''' 

"  I  remember  you  distinctly.  But  I  never  ran," 
returned  the  artist,  absorbed  in  the  careful  placing 
of  his  cards.  "  You  will  remember  that  you  always 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         131 

got  in  first.  Success  and  you  ran  hand  in  hand. 
Always  have,  I  hear." 

"I  have  been  most  successful  in  hiding  my 
failures.  How  else?" 

"  Otis  can  enlighten  you.  I  have  also  heard 
somewhat  of  you  from — er — our  mutual  friend — 
the  lovely  Jewess — Miss  Jean  Willard."  The  cards 
required  all  his  attention.  Philip  treated  the  inso 
lent  face  and  tone  to  a  speculative  regard. 

"  Do  you  mean  Daniel  Willard's  niece  ?  "  broke 
in  Otis,  hurriedly  assuming  the  office  of  sentinel. 
"  What  a  glorious  pianist  she  is!  I  heard  her  play 
last  week  at  the  benefit  for  the  Children's  Hos 
pital.  Taylor,  you  ought  to  know  her." 

"  Miss  Willard?  Certainly.  She  is  one  of  the 
finest  amateurs  in  town,  in  my  estimation," 
returned  the  'cellist,  sincerely  wishing  the  uncom 
fortable  moment  over. 

Philip's  eyes  still  held  the  feignedly  nonchalant 
face  of  the  artist.  He  resented  the  unnecessary 
introduction  of  Jean  Willard's  name  in  the  hostile 
assemblage — he  could  not  understand  the  intro 
duction,  nor  yet  his  own  resentment. 

Forrest  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  play  with  a  pro 
voking  sneer  into  the  steady  hazel  eyes  still  cover 
ing  him.  Then  he  passed  his  glance  on  to  his  host. 


132         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  to  play,"  he  said, 
impatiently. 

"  You're  in  a  hurry,  but  I  suppose  we'll  have  to 
humor  your  proverbial  restlessness.  Of  course, 
doctor,  you'll  take  a  hand." 

"What  is  your  game?" 

"Poker,  in  plain  American — what  the  English 
call  Bluff,"  said  Forrest,  swiftly.  "  You  know  it, 
I  presume." 

"  That  is  another  of  my  successes,"  returned 
Philip,  with  smiling  imperturbability,  from  his 
position  at  the  piano. 

"  Ah,  but  before  we  begin,"  drawled  Griswold, 
striving  against  the  discord,  "  won't  you  play  some 
thing  for  us,  Dr.  May?  We  have  been  hearing 
marvelous  eulogiums  of  your  skill  with  the  keys." 

"It  is  merely  a  race  propensity,"  said  Philip 
pleasantly,  seating  himself  and  running  his  fingers 
over  the  keyboard.  "  I  have  not  touched  the  piano 
in  months,  so  you  will  excuse  my  undisciplined 
fingers.  I  believe  the  last  time  I  played  was  on  the 
last  night  of  January  of  this  year."  The  piano 
was  turned  so  that  he  faced  them.  His  eyes,  grown 
strangely  brilliant,  were  raised  to  Otis  standing 
pale  and  disturbed  behind  Stephen  Forrest's  chair. 
Otis  knew  the  date  as  that  of  John  Harleigh's  death, 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         133 

but  his  senses  had  grown  confused  under  the  spirit 
of  aloofness  breathed  by  the  magnetic  figure  at  the 
piano,  under  the  probing  gaze  compelling  him  like 
a  confessional  the  while  the  harmonious  fingers 
ran  a  haunting,  incessant  accompaniment  of  som 
bre,  pursuing  chords.  Years  before,  in  a  German 
gallery  he  had  met  just  such  a  gaze  from  a  head  of 
the  Christ,  and  the  resemblance  before  him  now 
was  a  bewildering  revelation.  But  his  thronging 
thoughts  were  submerged  in  a  sudden  mad  rush  of 
melody,  rhapsodic,  barbaric,  fierce,  uncontrolled, 
yet  melody  throughout,  which  swept  out  to  them. 

"My  Bedouin  ancestry/'  smiled  the  player  oufc 
of  the  storm  beating,  retreating,  engulfing  itself. 
But  presently  the  tones  mourned  into  quiet,  crept 
out,  climbed,  soared  like  a  soul  out  of  materiality. 

"  A  Mosaic  flight,"  annotated  the  doctor's  voice 
through  the  profound  majesty.  "  Or,  rather, 
Beethoven.  But  what  odds?  They're  both  god 
heads." 

And  then,  pursuing  the  same  flight  he  merged 
into  the  Lohengrin  prelude,  the  swelling  spiritual 
strains  increasing,  diminishing,  choiring  toward — 
a  brutal  crash. 

"  There's  a  Heine-esque  finale  for  you,"  he 
laughed,  as  he  rose  in  the  throbbing  silence.  "  I 


134         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

never  hear  that  prelude  without  thinking  of  the 
story  Catulle  Mendes  tells  of  the  Jew  who  possessed 
an  exquisite  bust  of  Wagner,  about  the  brows  of 
which  he  had  placed  a  laurel  wreath,  and  about  the 
throat — a  cord.  But  enough  of  revelation — let's 
get  down  to  reality  and  bluff." 

His  face  was  deeply  flushed  as  he  crossed  the 
room  to  the  table.  They  felt  his  mastery  of  the 
moment,  of  themselves.  But  he  was  no  longer  mas 
ter  of  himself — and  he  knew  it :  knew  that  the  Jew, 
crushed  to  earth  within  him,  had  defied  him 
throughout  his  playing,  was  defying  his  strong 
control  now. 

He  seated  himself  and,  with  imperious  assertive- 
ness,  picked  up  the  cards.  A  cork  popped,  cards 
were  dealt.  The  game  proceeded.  The  players 
'  passed/  ( bet/  (  stood/  '  called/ — the  terms  ring 
ing  out  with  the  chink  of  money,  while  from  the 
beginning  Philip  May  kept  up  a  constant  hum  of 
song, — snatches  of  opera,  popular  airs,  costermon- 
ger  and  coon  songs, — never  pausing,  never  allow 
ing  it  to  interfere  with  his  own  cool,  fortunate 
play,  but  driving  Stephen  Forrest  to  the  verge  of 
frenzy. 

"  Quit  that  confounded  singing/'  he  ordered 
finally,  quite  beside  himself  as  his  vis-a-vis  drew  in 
the  pool  with  careless  ease. 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY         135 

Philip  bent  his  head  in  profound  acquiescence. 
The  next  minute  he  was  whistling,  softly,  clearly, 
charmingly,  as  though  it  were  impossible  to  be 
still.  The  excitement  had  brought  out  the  bravado. 
It  was  a  phase  of  reversion — the  rich,  strong  emo- 
tiveness  of  primal  nature  showing  through  the 
veneer  of  culture.  And  in  that  moment  when 
he  stood  alone,  revealed,  he  seemed  more  the 
man,  more  the  individual,  than  he  had  ever  seemed 
before,  and  Otis  almost  feared  him — his  unknow- 
ableness.  And  all  the  while  the  winnings  piled  up 
about  him,  and  he  smiled  between  his  whistling, 
and  the  hours  flew,  and  Stephen  Forrest's  breath 
ing  grew  quicker  as  he  felt  the  man  opposite  him 
winning  his  slender  means  with  the  ease  and  in 
difference  of  an  experienced  gambler  with  whom 
the  gods  were  in  league. 

"  One/'  said  Griswold,  discarding. 

"  Pat,"  said  Forrest. 

"  Pass,"  said  Otis. 

"  Two,"  said  Taylor. 

"  Three,"  announced  Philip,  the  dealer. 

The  betting  began  with  Griswold,  rose  with  For 
rest.  Taylor  dropped  out.  Philip  raised  Forrest 
two-fold.  Griswold  laid  down  his  hand. 

"  I  call  you,"  said  Stephen,  hoarsely,  throwing 


136         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

down  his  last  gold  piece,  his  face  white  and  shaken 
as  he  leaned  across  the  table. 

"  Think  twice,"  admonished  the  winner  plea 
santly. 

Stephen  half  rose  from  his  chair,  "  I  have  called 
you,"  he  said,  incoherently,  glaring  at  his  oppo 
nent. 

Philip  took  up  his  interrupted  whistling,  laid 
open  his  cards — the  highest  possible  hand. 

Forrest  bent  forward  to  look.  An  unutterable 
hate  flared  into  the  face  he  lifted  to  Philip's.  "  You 
dealt,"  he  ground  out — "you  dealt — you  damned 
whistling  Jew — you've  been — " 

There  was  a  flashing  movement,  a  chair  was 
overturned — the  singularly  well-shaped  hand  had 
gripped  the  slender  throat. 

But  before  the  protest  could  be  voiced  as  the 
others  sprang  to  their  feet,  the  hand  relaxed.  For 
rest  sank  back  livid  and  speechless. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Philip,  standing  pale 
and  haughty  before  his  host.  "  I  am  sorry  to  have 
spoiled  your  evening.  You  had  better  look  to  your 
friend." 

He  did  not  offer  his  hand.  Another  moment  and 
the  door  clicked  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Leaning  upon  silken  pillows,  his  strong,  silvered 
head  and  fine  features  in  a  glow  of  soft  light,  Daniel 
Willard  led  the  yearly  songs  of  praise  and  thanks 
giving  over  the  deliverance  from  bondage  of  the 
children  of  Israel.  It  was  the  santification  feast 
of  the  Passover.  High  above  the  joyous  sonorous 
ness  of  the  men's  voices,  rose  the  sweet  treble  of  the 
women.  The  wine  gleamed  ruby-red  in  crystal 
glasses  and  in  the  two  ancient  silver  goblets,  Will 
ard  heirlooms,  always  used  upon  this  occasion,  one 
by  Daniel,  one  by  his  close,  time-tested  friend, 
Joseph  May.  Upon  the  satin  damask  before  the 
master  of  the  festival,  was  placed  the  little  cluster 
of  mementoes  indicative  of  the  burdens  and  vic 
tories  of  the  band  of  God's  chosen :  the  unleavened 
bread,  the  bone  of  the  paschal  lamb,  the  bitter 
herb,  the  parsley  and  vinegar,  the  almonds — and — 
apples  figuring  as  mortar. 

Usually,  with  good-natured  placidity,  Daniel 
hastened  with  the  historic  significances  and  ob 
servations,  in  order  to  hurry  forward  the  dinner. 


138         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

But  to-night  Joseph,  in  his  new  velvet  house-cap, 
in  new,  sternly  serious  exactitude,  had  allowed 
nothing  to  be  omitted;  every  passage  was  given  in 
its  entirety.  And  Daniel  had  submitted  indul 
gently,  striving  to  relieve  the  intoning  with  an 
occasional  whimsical  turn  or  trill,  arresting  any 
unseemly  laughter  by  a  quickly  raised  finger  or 
eyebrow  of  admonition,  and  then  continuing  grave 
ly  on  over  his  delightfully  familiar  way.  But  de 
spite  their  earnestness,  Elijah  had  not  appeared 
with  tidings  of  the  long  awaited  Prince  of  Peace, 
and  his  filled  glass  and  set  chair,  the  door  left  in 
vitingly  open  for  his  coming,  had  served  only  to 
elicit  a  gay  cynicism  from  Paul  Stein. 

But  the  prelude  was  all  conscientiously  chanted, 
the  fragments  of  unleavened  bread  removed,  and, 
dinner  being  served,  their  half-restrained  holiday 
gayety  bubbled  forth  with  the  sumptuous  good 
cheer.  Dinner  over,  the  cloth  was  again  cleared  of 
all  but  the  wine,  glasses,  and  quaintly  illustrated 
books,  and  then  began  the  Hallel,  the  triumphant, 
soul-stirring  hallelujahs. 

They  waxed  hilarious.  Soft-voiced  Laura  Brook- 
man,  beautiful  in  shimmering  gala  attire,  looked 
flushed  and  merry,  sharing  her  book  with  Paul 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         139 

Stein,  pretending  to  be  shocked  over  his  low- voiced, 
modern  elucidation  of  the  ancient  Hebraic  text. 
Brookman,  comfortably  doubled  over  his  Hagad- 
dah,  sang  out  like  a  cantor,  with  all  his  lungs,  and 
wondrous  attempts  at  improvising.  Daniel  and 
Joseph  accompanied  softly,  somewhat  quaveringly, 
as  though  lost  in  old  memories  of  home  and  kin 
dred,  breaking  now  and  then  into  louder  ecstasy 
when  some  particular  refrain  carried  them  from 
their  feet  with  reminiscences  of  lost  loves  and 
voices.  Jean,  radiant  in  diaphanous  white,  sang 
along  in  smiling  abstraction,  one  ear  given  to  her 
surroundings,  the  other  to  the  possible  ringing  of 
the  door-bell.  But  eight  o'clock  came,  and  still 
Elijah  delayed. 

It  was  during  the  full  flood  of  the  paean  on  the 
Building  of  the  Temple  that  the  faint  peal,  almost 
lost  in  the  mounting,  lusty  singing,  was  heard  by 
the  listening  girl,  and  she  arose  starry-eyed. 

"  The  Prince  at  last?  "  asked  Stein,  while  the 
others  looked  up  questioningly. 

"  Throw  wide  the  door,  my  dear,"  cried  Daniel, 
with  flushed  cheeks,  "  and  go  forth  to  greet  him." 

Joseph  shaded  his  face  with  a  trembling  hand 
while  the  girl  hostess  moved  into  the  hall. 


140         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  I  came  to  meet  Elijah/'  she  laughed,  with  win 
some  grace,  making  him  a  deep  obeisance  as  they 
met  within  a  foot  of  the  dining-room. 

"Did  you  expect  him?"  Philip  asked,  her 
words,  herself,  seeming  but  to  bear  out,  to  plunge 
him  deeper  into  the  vision  of  the  power  of  the  past 
which  had  opened  out  the  night  before  to  reabsorb 
him. 

"  We  always  expect  him — traditionally — this 
night,"  she  smiled.  "  It  is  the  Sedar  night."  She 
pulled  the  portiere  aside,  and  the  Past,  in  truth, 
engulfed  him. 

He  had  not  expected  it — the  grim  coincidence 
struck  him  as  full  of  subjective,  dramatic  possibili 
ties.  He  smiled,  under  his  mustache,  over  the 
thought  while  he  stood  with  his  hand  upon  his 
father's  shoulder  and  Daniel  Willard  presented  him 
to  the  other  guests. 

He  seemed  to  bring  with  him  an  air  of  philistin- 
ism,  of  worldly  alienation,  yet  of  polished  criticism. 
The  sweet  comfort  of  the  moment  was  lost.  But 
he  begged  them  to  continue  the  singing. 

"  Don't  let  me  feel  that  I  have  stopped  the 
music,"  he  said,  seating  himself  beside  Jean.  "  That 
chorus  sounded  particularly  triumphant  as  the  door 
was  opened  for  me." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         141 

"  Mr.  Brookman  will  sing  the  last  verse  for  us/'7 
said  Daniel.  "  He  is  a  whole  choir  in  himself/'' 

Brookman  laughed.  "  All  right.  Laura,  you 
hum  along  with  me  and  divide  my  blushes." 

While  his  voice  rose  and  swelled  in  the  grand  old 
air,  its  virile  resonance  toned  down,  yet  sustained, 
by  Laura's  liquid  lilting,  the  wonder  of  it  all  flashed 
through  Philip's  disturbed  being.  He  seemed  to 
have  stepped  into  some  strange  side-show  out  of 
the  grand-court  of  life.  Yet  in  how  many  homes 
throughout  the  universe  was  the  ancient  custom  be 
ing  celebrated  that  night!  To  endure  after  so 
many  ages,  nay,  in  spite  of  so  many  ages,  of  hate, 
oppression — progress!  It  was  marvelous,  well-nigh 
supernatural. 

His  practiced  eye  measured  the  mien  and  faces 
of  those  about  him.  Joseph  May,  squat,  sturdy, 
stubborn,  symboling  an  impregnable  foundation, 
defying  time  through  an  immovable,  inherited  big 
otry  rather  than  through  any  studied  conviction. 
Daniel  Willard,  dreamer,  idealist,  joying  in  his  own 
interpretation  of  the  spirit  of  the  law,  reading  life 
and  men  through  his  own  halo — a  dreamer  in  Israel 
who  dreamed  he  was  awake!  Charles  Brookman, 
calm,  happy  in  his  materiality,  product  of  "en 
forced  specialization  "  in  his  success,  product  of  a 


142         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

sternly  simple  domestic  morality  in  his  negative 
goodness.  Laura  Brookman  filling  beautifully  her 
costly  frame,  quick-witted,  quick-cultured,  con 
sciously  conventional,  full  of  unsounded  reserves. 
Paul  Stein,  deftly  observant,  keenly  alert,  strong- 
hearted,  carrying  no  superfluous  sentiment,  frank 
ly  Semitic  on  his  face  value,  heartily  of  his  race 
through  nature  and  love,  intellectually  above  it  in 
being  able  to  judge  it — without  prejudice.  Jean 
Willard, — but  here  his  cool  analysis  paused  be 
fore  the  dreamy  power  of  a  loveliness  more  of  spir 
itual  suggestiveness  than  of  beauty  of  feature — for 
here,  he  thought,  lay,  perhaps,  the  answer  to  all  the 
mystery,  to  all  the  poetry  of  passion  and  endurance 
of  the  race.  A  representative  group  whose  blended 
characteristics  would  scarcely  have  produced  that 
legendary  composite — the  "  typical  "  Jew. 

The  song  ended,  Daniel  cried  "  bravo!  "  and  Jean 
clapped  her  hands.  Her  satiny  white  skin  was 
stained  now  with  a  faint  rosy  underglow — she  was 
happy — forgetful  of  all  rumor,  of  all  suspicion. 
Was  he  not  there,  beside  her?  The  unconscious 
coquetry  of  joy  helped  unconscious  nature.  Con 
versation  drifted  easily  into  tete-a-tetes. 

Philip  admired  the  wealth  of  eschscholtzias,  the 
glorious  golden  California  wild  poppies,  glowing 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         143 

upon  the  table  and  about  the  room,  and  Jean  ex 
plained  how  she  had  kept  them  all  day  in  a  dark 
ened  room,  only  bringing  them  into  the  candle 
light  at  the  hour  when  she  wished  to  awaken  their 
satiny  splendor. 

"Counterfeiting  daylight  for  the  beautiful 
stupids,"  she  said.  "  The  only  fault  they  have  is 
that  they  fall  to  pieces  so  quickly/'  The  long 
golden  petals  already  strewed  the  table-cloth. 

"  But  nothing  is  permanent/'  he  suggested 
lightly.  "  Nothing  ever  is — it  is  only  a  becoming." 

"  You  mean  evolutionally?  " 

"  Anciently  speaking — yes." 

"  Nothing  is — it  is  only  a  becoming,"  she  re 
peated  musingly,  fastening  the  poppy  she  had  been 
toying  with  in  her  bosom.  "  Then  there  is  hope  for 
all  of  us.  For  of  course  that  remark  refers  most  of 
all  to  us  poor  dots  of  humanity." 

"  Oh,  man — man  is  only  a  passing  thought  in  the 
mind  of  the  Creator,"  he  teased,  trying  to  forget 
himself  in  gauging  her,  and  noticing  how  the 
poppy  seemed  to  glow  up  into  her  eyes. 

"What  a  skeptical  thought!  Besides  it  is  blas 
phemous.  According  to  that,  how  many  more  low 
thoughts  He  must  have  than  great  ones."  They 
were  laughing  into  each  other's  eyes.  "  And  what 


144         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

a  lot  of  vain  sophistry  and  red-tape  cant  we  Jews 
escape  by  making  our  God  a  glorious  abstraction." 
She  was  speaking  in  the  serious  strain  most  natural 
to  her. 

"'  We  Jews!'"    He  drew  a  hard  breath.    "But 
what  of  Sinai?  "  he  questioned. 

"  You  are  speaking  anciently  again." 

"How?" 

"  '  Nothing  is — it  is  only  a  becoming ' — noth 
ing  more  so  than  the  Jew  and  Jewish  comment 
ary." 

"  But — this.  "  His  eye  swept  the  symbols  of  the 
festivity.  If  she  was  minded  to  teach,  why  not? 
Surely  she  had  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  the  world! 
And  there  was  a  certain  cadence  to  her  pretty  young 
voice — 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  picture — "  she  was  saying,  "  part 
of  our  ancestral  gallery — which  we  unveil  every 
year  for  the  sake  of  auld  lang  syne.  If  you  could 
have  heard  our  rabbi  at  the  Congress  of  Religions 
you  would  understand  what  I  mean — how  we  move 
— how  singularly  free,  unhampered,  broad,  open  to 
the  light  of  every  day,  Jewish  thought  is.  Oh,  I 
was  so  proud  of  him.  He  seemed  to  overtop  them 
all.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how — but  I  am  so 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         145 

densely  ignorant,  I  never  get  anything  but  the 
spirit  out  of  things." 

"  May  you  not  have  judged  through  instinctive 
racial  sympathy — prejudice  ?  "  he  murmured,  en 
joying  her  swift  enthusiasms,  the  music  of  her  voice 
making  dim  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  Perhaps.  But  how  else  does  one  judge — hon 
estly.  One  cannot  detach  oneself  from  oneself,  can 
one?  "  She  questioned  him  with  her  eyes,  not  wait 
ing  for  his  answer.  "  Wait  a  minute — I  do  remem 
ber  something.  Our  other  rabbi,  our  younger, 
beautiful-voiced  one,  said,  at  the  time,  that  when 
we  pray  we  do  not  pray  to  the  divinity  above  us, 
but  to  the  divinity  within  us.  Well?" 

"Truly?  And  you  pray  so?  And  is  it  effica 
cious?" 

"  Thereby  hangs  a  tale." 

"Tellable?" 

"  Oh,  yes;  if  I  am  willable." 

"Well?" 

"  It's  another  proof  of  that  '  becoming '  theory 
of  yours.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  say  a  He 
brew  prayer  of  which  I  understood  not  one  word — 
recited  it  like  a  poll-parrot.  I  could  repeat  it  now 
word  for  word,  straight  from  the  beginning,  if — 


146         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"How  did  it  go?"  He  spoke  impulsively,  the 
color  springing  up  his  cheek. 

"  Oh  such  gibberish!  "  She  ran  through  it  laugh 
ingly. 

He  could  have  repeated  in  unison — they  were 
linked  by  a  '  coincidence  of  family  tradition.7 

"  But  I  renounced  that  as  soon  as  I  was  allowed 
the  silence  of  prayer.  I  remember  at  that  stage  1 
was  very  confidential  to  my  God,  told  him  all  my 
little  vanities  and  ambitions,  begged  him  to  make 
me  successful  in  my  examinations,  to  make  my 
teachers  love  me,  to  give  me  certain  pretty  frocks, 
and  all  the  other  desires  of  childhood.  Then,  as  I 
grew  older,  and  life  grew  shorter  and  more  sacred, 
I  ceased  to  itemize — I  adopted  a  sort  of  cipher — a 
shorthand  mode  of  communication.  And  then  I 
discovered  that  my  God  was  not  listening  to  me — 
that  I  was  blasphemous  in  thus  addressing  him — 
and  so  I  ceased  to  pray." 

A  silence  fell  between  them. 
"  And  yet,"  she  looked  up  with  a  flash  of  ra 
diance,  "the  primitive  notion  is  there  just  the 
same.    Because  in  very  happy  moments  I  do  pray 
— instinctively." 

"  What  do  you  pray?  "  What  a  child  she  was, 
still  full  of  the  wonder  of  her  own  growth. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         147 

Her  mouth  dimpled  merrily.  "  My  uncle  says 
it's  the  whole  of  religion  in  a  nut-shell." 

"  Well,  teach  me." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered  very  quietly. 

"  Oh,  but  you  must." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  insistent  gaze.  What! 
repeat  to  this  self-constituted  critic,  this  cold-eyed 
man  of  the  world  her  fragmentary  rhapsody  of  joy 
and  gratitude  for  life,  her  childish  "  God  bless 
everybody,  and  make  me  be  a  good  little  girl "  ! 
"  Little  "  girl,  forsooth! 

Yet  he  could  feel  the  family  bent  through  her 
blushing  reticence.  She  was  a  girlish  Daniel  Will- 
ard — and  he  told  her  so. 

"  Then  diagnose  Uncle  Daniel — and  I'll  pre 
scribe  for  myself." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  noticed  inconsequently 
a  tendril  of  dark  hair  caressing  her  tiny  ear — strug 
gled  a  moment  against  her  physical  charm — and 
submitted. 

She  was  no  longer  Jean  Willard,  the  Jewess. 
She  was  only  a  beautiful  girl  sitting  close  beside 
him,  whom  it  lay  within  his  possibilities  to  attract. 
He  turned  more  directly  to  her.  .  .  .  There 
rushed  over  Jean  the  full  sway  of  a  brilliant  man 
throwing  aside  his  accustomed  reticences  for  her 


148         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

sake.  The  murmur  of  the  other  voices  died  out  of 
her  consciousness.  Whether  it  was  only  the  brief 
est  span  of  time  or  a  cycle  in  which  they  spoke  to 
gether  she  could  not  have  told.  She  only  felt  that 
she  had  traveled  deep  and  far  alone  with  him. 

"  Come/7  he  said,  half  rising  from  his  chair. 
"  "Where's  your  piano?  I'll  play  you  a  strain — two 
strains — three — more  eloquent  of  these  different 
phases  of  the  grand  passion  in  different  types  of 
humanity  than  I  could  or  would  describe  to  you 
in  words.  The  music  to  you — "  He  paused,  resum 
ing  his  seat  as  the  maid  presented  a  card  to  her  mis 
tress. 

Jean's  foot  tapped  the  floor  impatiently.  "  Oh 
dear,"  she  murmured,  with  frank  annoyance,  and, 
with  a  fleeting  pout  lost  in  a  smile,  she  murmured 
a  word  of  excuse,  and  left  the  room. 

Could  Stephen  Forrest  have  guessed  she  was  on 
the  point  of  relenting?  Else  how  account  for  his 
assurance  in  again  crossing  her  threshold,  she  won 
dered  impatiently,  hurrying  through  the  hall.  How 
could  she  get  rid  of  him  without  hurting  his  dan 
gerous  sensitiveness,  without  letting  him  know  that 
he  was  an  intrusion  upon  a  moment  so  superlatively 
happy  she  had  wished  it  without  end? 

But  her  impatience  fled  at  sight  of  his  weary  pal- 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         149 

lor.  "  Let  us  both  sit  down,"  she  said  in  an  impulse 
of  compassion,  all  party  spirit  and  inclination  lost 
through  the  woman.  "  You  look  tired  to  death." 

"  I  am,"  he  said,  following  her  example  and  sink 
ing  into  a  chair,  surprise  over  her  gentle  acceptance 
of  his  being  there  giving  his  conscience  a  leap  of 
shame.  "  And  I  can  give  no  excuse  for  my  daring 
— after  our  last  meeting — except — " 

"The  picture?"  She  prompted  kindly  as 
he  paused. 

His  little  scheme  of  vengeance  looked  mean  and 
petty  beside  her  broad  forbearance.  He  had  never 
seen  her  as  she  seemed  revealed  to-night — his  im 
pressionable  senses  took  in  her  full  value  for  love 
and  art. 

"You  are  going  out,"  he  said  with  quickened 
breath,  his  eye  sweeping  over  her  unusual  radi 
ance. 

"  No.  I  am  staying  in."  She  spoke  gently,  but 
shortly. 

"  Then  I  am  intruding — you  expect  others." 

"  Oh  no.    No  one  else  is  coming." 

He  chafed  under  her  courteous  curtness.  He 
fully  appreciated  her  spiritual  absence,  her  reluct 
ance  to  being  there  with  him.  He  could  feel  her 
resolving  his  visit  into  a  business  interview,  nothing 


150          HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

more.  And  he  could  not,  in  all  decency,  force  it 
into  anything  longer  . 

"  And  so,"  she  added,  breaking  in  upon  his  re 
flection,  "  what  is  that  long  thought?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  going.  No,  don't  trouble  to  speak 
the  little  social  fib — you  know  I  always  understood 
what  was  passing  behind  your  face.  But  as  for  our 
last  set-to,  I  believe,  yes,  I  feel  sure  you  are  going 
to  relent." 

"  Perhaps.  If  you  promise  to  be  good."  The 
playful  words  were  charged  with  a  warning  mean 
ing,  which  he  grasped  at  once.  Unfortunately,  how 
ever,  they  only  served  to  recall  the  real  object  of  his 
being  there. 

"  Good?  Oh,  I'll  be  good  enough,"  he  laughed 
with  a  contemptuous  snort.  "  I'll  paint  a  picture 
that  will  be  a  picture,  never  fear — but  it  will  be  you 
—only  you — and  I'll  be  romantic  and  call  it — '  the 
Jewess  ' — but  remember,  it  will  be  only  you.  And 
then  when  it's  quite  finished,  and  I've  put  it  away, 
out  of  the  reach  of  memory,  I'll  paint  its  compan 
ion.  Want  to  hear  what  that  will  be  like?  " 

"  I  am  listening  to  you." 

"  It  won't  be  so  much  to  your  taste,  because,  I 
promise  you,  it  will  belong  utterly  to  the  realistic 
school — and  you  don't  like  naked  truths,  do  you?  " 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         151 

"  Not  ugly  ones.  I  mean  I  shouldn't  choose 
them — for  companions.  And  what  will  you  call 
my  c  companion 9?  " 

"  <  The  Jew.' " 

"  Indeed.  And  you  think  you  can  find  nothing 
but  an  ugly  model?" 

"  Oh,  he  has  stood  for  me  already.  But  you  mis 
take  my  meaning — he  is  most  inconsistently  good 
to  look  at  in  conventional  attire.  We  were  speak 
ing  about  naked  truths." 

"  And  where  did  you  discover  tnis  interesting 
sham?  " 

"  In  Dr.  May." 

"  Yes?  "  The  rising  inflection  was  sweetly,  stilly 
dangerous. 

"  Ton  honor.  He  stood  unconscious  model  for 
me  last  night.  Oh,  it  was  rich,  rich!  "  He  threw 
up  his  arms  in  an  ecstasy  of  false  delight,  but  hur 
ried  on,  goaded  by,  trampling  ruthlessly  over,  the 
protest  in  her  proud  face.  "  Fll  paint  him,"  he 
continued,  leaning  toward  her  in  smiling,  low- 
voiced  confidence,  "  as  he  never  chose  to  be  painted 
before — full  face,  not  profile — at  the  moment  when 
his  counterfeit  bit  of  pasteboard  was  torn  to  shreds 
by  a  set  of  finical  young  Christians  who  politely 
shut  their  club-door  in  his  face.  I  could  throw  a 


152         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

good  deal  of  quiet  drama  into  that.  I  think  you 
would  prefer  it  to  the  more  sensational  pose  of 
clutching  the  throat  of  the  man  who  dared  to  call 
him  Jew?" 

His  still  smiling  face  was  ghastly,  his  nostrils 
quivering;  he  scarcely  saw  the  features  of  the  girl 
before  him.  "  He  has  a  hand  of  steel,  that  mutual 
friend  of  ours.  Look!  "  He  threw  back  his  head 
disclosing  to  her  battling  senses  the  still  plainly 
discernible  red  marks  upon  his  delicate  throat. 
"  Philip  May — his  mark — at  your  service,"  he  pre 
sented  with  mock  courtesy.  "  What  spicy  reading 
the  press  could  make  of  it  if  placed  at  their  clever 
interpretation." 

An  icy  hand  pressed  upon  her  heart;  she  strove 
vainly  to  answer  his  waiting  pause. 

"  Pshaw!  "  he  laughed  roughly,  "  you're  deathly 
pale.  Don't  take  it  so  seriously.  Let  me  assure 
you  it  will  have  a  tame  enough  ending.  I  should 
only  need  to  offer  him  this  alternative — publicity, 
or  apology  before  witnesses — and  flop!  the  Jew 
would  be  in  character — upon  his  knees." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  a  flood  of  released  blood 
rushing  madly  from  her  throat  to  her  brow.  "  You 
lie!  "  she  flamed,  in  imperious  suffocation.  "  You 
lie,  Stephen  Forrest! " 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         153 

He  laughed  somewhat  dazedly  at  the  passion  he 
had  evoked. 

"  Why/'  she  repeated  more  slowly,  measuring 
his  ironic  insolence,  "  I'll  prove  that  you  lie." 

Acting  impetuously  upon  the  impetuous 
thought,  she  was  out  of  the  room  before  either  of 
them  could  take  count. 

Somewhat  surprised  over  her  low-voiced  sum 
mons,  Dr.  May  followed  her  through  the  hall.  She 
did  not  turn  to  him  until  they  were  both  well  in 
the  room,  and  Stephen  Forrest,  hiding  his  astonish 
ment  over  her  summary  retort  under  a  gracious 
suavity,  stood  up.  He  looked  deferentially  toward 
her  while  she  spoke. 

"  You  must  pardon  my  calling  you  so  impulsive 
ly,  Dr.  May,"  she  laughed,  still  tremulously,  "  but 
I  have  challenged  Mr.  Forrest  to  prove  his  boast 
that  you  would  sooner  go  on  your  knees  to  him  than 
see  your  name — attached  to  some  vile  story  of  his 
concoction — in  print.  Will  you  second  me?  " 

He  smiled  reassuringly  into  her  beautiful  eyes, 
turning  from  her  to  Forrest  and  looking  him  over 
as  a  mastiff  might  a  terrier.  "  Is  that  your  proposi 
tion?  "  he  asked  quietly,  with  a  raised  eyebrow. 

A  light,  the  quick  light  of  jealous  insight,  flashed 
in  upon  the  artist's  confused  consciousness :  her  in- 


154         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

tensified  loveliness,  her  dress,  her  unexpected  gen 
tleness  toward  him,  her  passionate  umbrage,  Philip 
May's  presence.  "  Decidedly  you  have  me  at  a  dis 
advantage,"  he  said  softly,  turning  to  the  girl,  a 
mad  pain  at  his  heart.  "  Surely  you  must  know  I 
never  should  have  expressed  myself  as  I  have,  had 
I  known  that  the  love  you  felt  for  Dr.  May,  so 
naively,  yet  plainly  expressed  to  me  not  long  ago, 
had  this  consummation  in  view — had  come  to  this. 
Was  it  quite  fair  to  me?  "  He  held  out  a  hand  of 
truce. 

She  looked  down  at  it,  white,  impassive.  Some 
thing  indescribable  in  her  face  smote  into  his  pity. 
"  Ah  well,  I've  made  a  mess  of  it,  as  usual,"  he  con 
fessed  sharply,  "and  the  only  way  out  of  it  is 
through  the  door.  Good-night."  He  brushed  past 
Philip  as  he  limped  his  way  out. 

Philip  turned  hurriedly  to  Jean.  "  I'm  sorry  you 
have  been  drawn  into  this  unpleasant  affair,"  he 
said  in  a  matter-of-fact,  impersonal  manner,  a 
scowling  light  in  his  eyes,  "  and  sorry  my  pleasant 
evening  has  been  spoiled.  Mr.  Forrest  and  I  will 
settle  this  little  discussion  outside.  Excuse  me  to 
Mr.  Willard,  will  you?  "  He  took  her  hand  gently, 
pressed  it  strongly,  scarcely  glanced  at  her,  and 
caught  the  front  door  just  as  it  was  closing  behind 
Stephen  Forrest. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Several  of  the  personages  concerned  in  the  inci 
dents  herein  detailed,  enjoyed  their  next  morning's 
breakfast  with  a  peculiar  relish. 

Among  them,  Paul  Stein,  seated  in  the  restau 
rant  he  usually  frequented,  after  opening  his 
crackling  newspaper  and  glancing  over  the  foreign 
dispatches,  turned  idly  to  the  local  news.  In  a 
moment  the  gleam  of  interest  in  his  eyes  burst  into 
amazement,  radiated  into  keen  amusement.  .  He 
folded  the  paper  comfortably  to  the  desired  col 
umns,  propped  it  up  against  the  cream  pitcher  and 
prepared  to  enjoy  his  berries  and  his  news,  his 
whole  head  snapping  with  absorbed  pleasure  while 
his  eyes  ran  down  the  lines. 

"  Well  done,  by  George! "  was  his  continuous 
commentary  as  he  proceeded.  "  Wonder  who  wrote 
it  up.  Smacks  of  high  comedy.  Good  subject — 
confoundedly,  disgustingly  good." 

The  waiter  came  with  his  coffee.  He  carelessly 
turned  the  page  to  the  stock  and  bond  reports.  He 
drank  his  coffee  without  reading.  "  How  did  it  get 


156         HEIES     OF    YESTEEDAY 

out?"  he  queried.  "Bell-boy  called  in  the  row, 
no  doubt — a  hundred  outlets  in  a  hotel  like  that. 
Found  by  someone  who  knew  its  literary  value. 
What  an  ass  it  makes  of  him.  Pity.  In  spite  of 
rumor  he  seemed  every  inch  a  man.  Nothing  of 
the  Malvolio  in  his  outside  make-up.  Dear  me, 
what  a  pity!  A  derisive  thing  like  that  fixes  his 
reputation.  Can't  live  it  down  or  fame  it  down. 
If  his  father  sees  it,  he  will  eat  his  heart  out.  And 
the  Chevalier.  And  Jean — wonder  what  she'll  have 
to  say  now.  Well,"  he  travestied,  "  you  can't  fool 
all  the  people  all  the  time.  Poor  little  Jean  with 
her  heights! "  He  rose  with  a  love-laugh  in  his 
eyes. 

His  was  a  solitary  breakfast — a  silent  comment 
ary.  Elsewhere  tongues,  and  eyes,  and  thoughts 
were  busy  tearing  the  man  and  his  motives  to 
shreds.  Much  talk,  many  sneers,  some  indignation 
of  two  sorts,  and  over  all  the  ready  laugh,  followed 
the  reading  of  the  clever  skit. 

Jean  had  untwisted  the  tightly  spiraled  news 
paper  and  placed  it  beside  her  uncle's  plate.  Gen 
erally,  he  supplied  her  with  occasional  tid-bits  from 
his  perusal,  often  passing  her  the  paper  when  he 
had  read  through  an  item  of  unusual  interest.  It 
was  the  first  morning  of  the  Passover — both  leav- 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         157 

ened  and  unleavened  bread  were  upon  the  table. 
Daniel,  who  was  very  fond  of  the  whitey-brown 
crisps  had  been  forbidden  them  by  his  physician, 
but  he  always  buttered  and  ate  a  mouthful  as  if  in 
excuse  for  his  untimely  toast. 

He  failed  to  notice  that  Jean,  despite  her  cheery 
demeanor,  was  eating  as  though  under  compulsion. 
Presently  she  saw  him  hurriedly  put  down  his  cup 
and  half  turn  from  her,  his  absorbed  gaze  traveling 
over  the  printed  page  held  close  in  his  trembling 
grasp.  His  color  mounted  steadily,  hotly,  to  his 
temples. 

"What  is  it?" 

She  stood  behind  his  chair,  leaning  over  his 
shoulder,  her  hand  upon  his  to  steady  the  flutter 
ing  paper.  There  was  a  moment's  breathless,  ab 
sorbed  silence. 

"  An  abominable  lie,  my  dear,"  pronounced 
Daniel  finally,  his  voice  crushing  huskily  over  the 
words.  "Abominable.  Some  rival's  cowardly 
thrust." 

The  girl  still  leaned  over  his  shoulder.  Irritated 
by  her  silence,  he  turned  his  face  so  suddenly  that 
it  struck  against  her  cheek,  He  was  startled  by  the 
icj  touch. 

"  I  am  just  finishing,"  she  explained,  taking  the 


158         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

paper,  and  drawing  from  him  so  as  to  effectually 
conceal  her  countenance. 

"  You  will  have  already  discovered  the  falsity 
of  it,"  he  laughed  angrily. 

Jean  laid  the  paper  beside  him  upon  the  table. 
A  chill  smile  touched  her  lips.  "  The  writer  is 
witty,"  she  remarked  lightly.  "What  diverting 
copy  the  story  makes."  She  laughed  curiously. 
"  It  really  makes  a  very  funny  story." 

"The  story!  But  there  is  no  story.  What  are 
you  talking  about?" 

She  laughed  softly,  indulgently,  in  bitter  knowl 
edge. 

Daniel's  face  turned  fiery.  "  You  must  be  preju 
diced,  my  dear,"  he  said  slowly,  putting  the  brake 
upon  his  anger,  "  to  believe  so  readily  in  the  vile 
cowardice  and  buffoonery  of  an  apparent  gentle 
man — and  my  friend." 

She  looked  straight,  and  pale,  and  unswerving 
ly  into  his  eyes.  Daniel  shook  off  his  glasses.  "  You 
can  believe  it  then,"  he  exclaimed,  catching  them 
as  they  fell  dangling. 

Her  close-pressed  lips  refused  to  answer.  Her 
uncle  arose  from  the  table.  They  were  as  near  a 
quarrel  as  circumstances  had  ever  drawn  them. 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         159 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Temple  this  morning/'  he 
said  distantly,  comparing  his  watch  with  the  clock. 

"  It  is  too  early  yet,  isn't  it  ?  "  remarked  Jean. 
She  had  turned  from  him  to  throw  open  the  win 
dow. 

"  I  will  go  over  to  Joseph — now — before  he  has 
a  chance  to  read  that — calumny."  He  had  not  yet 
driven  the  emotion  from  his  voice. 

Jean's  heart  gave  a  leap  at  the  name.  "Poor 
Uncle  Joseph!  "  she  murmured  musingly,  and  then 
she  started  to  feel  her  uncle's  heavy  hand  upon  her 
shoulder. 

"  As  long  as  you  live  with  me,  my  dear,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  never  look  or  speak  distrust  in  my  pres 
ence  of  Philip  May.  Do  you  understand?  " 

Her  eyes  were  suddenly  blinded  with  tears. 
"Yes,"  she  whispered  indistinctly,  turning  her 
head  from  him. 

And  meanwhile,  over  next  door,  Joseph  May  had 
been  enjoying  his  Passover  breakfast.  Into  a  bowl- 
like  cup  he  had  broken  a  quantity  of  the  matzos  and 
poured  over  all  the  rich,  creamy  coffee.  As  the 
aroma  of  the  delicious  beverage  steamed  up  and 
about  him,  he  lost  himself  in  its  delectable  con 
sumption.  Only  when  half  finished  could  he  suffi- 


160         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

ciently  withdraw  himself  from  his  thraldom  to 
unfold  the  messenger  of  malice  which  lay  so  inno 
cently  beside  his  plate. 

In  a  flash  the  world  was  lost  to  him,  the  devil 
had  him  in  his  clutch.  But  not  wholly.  He  had 
had  his  experience  and,  with  a  stealthy  glance 
around,  as  though  innumerable  eyes  were  upon  him, 
he  crept  to  the  sideboard  and  poured  three  careful 
drops  from  the  tiny  vial  down  his  throat.  He  stood 
a  moment  while  the  drug,  taking  effect,  deadened 
limbs  and  faculties.  Then  he  crept  back  to  his 
place  at  the  table,  pushed  aside  his  half-finished 
cup,  picked  up  his  half-finished  newspaper  article. 
He  sat  with  furrowed,  leathery  skin  and  glazed 
eyes,  reading  in  the  ridicule.  The  clock  ticked 
audibly  from  the  mantelpiece. 

A  springing  footfall  was  heard  upon  the  porch 
outside.  An  intimate  hand  was  on  the  door.  There 
was  a  sharp,  swift  rustling  as  of  paper  being  fierce 
ly  crushed. 

"Come  in,"  cried  Joseph  May. 

When  Daniel  entered  there  was  no  sign  of  news 
paper  or  disturbance.  The  former  lay  close-hid 
den  against  the  drugged  breast. 

"  Good  yuntoff"  said  Daniel  cheerily,  searching 
the  whole  room  with  a  glance. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         161 

"  Good  yuntoff"  returned  Joseph,  putting  down 
his  lifted  cup.  "  What  news  this  morning?  " 

"  Have  you  not  read  the  news  as  usual?  " 

"  No.  My  paper  was  stole  this  morning.  You 
can  tell  me  all  what  you  know  while  we  go." 

Out  of  the  Ghetto,  out  of  the  bitter  oppression 
and  its  consequent  suppression,  came  to  the  chil 
dren  of  the  Book  a  peculiar  power — the  baffling, 
triumphant  power  of  Silence  at  need. 

But  long  before  and  after  his  father  sat  in  the 
synagogue  striving  to  straighten  the  snarl  out  of 
his  soul,  Dr.  May  was  busy  bandaging  broken  bones 
that  three  or  four  men  might  walk  straight.  The 
day  proved  a  very  busy  one  for  him.  Before  dawn 
he  had  been  called  in  consultation  over  the  broken 
ribs  and  limbs  of  a  woman  inmate  of  a  sanitarium, 
who  had  discovered  that  happiness  was  to  be  found 
only  "  in  the  long  run,"  and  had  tried  to  compass 
the  stretch — through  the  window — only  to  make  a 
failure  of  death  as  she  had  of  life, — and  the  hours 
following  his  grim  task  with  her  afforded  him 
little  leisure. 

It  was  a  very  jaded  memory  which  recalled  the 
events  of  the  two  preceding  nights  while  he  stood 
waiting  to  be  shaved  by  his  barber  before  going 
home  to  dine.  He  remembered  them  then,  out  of 


162         HEIRS      OF    YESTERDAY 

the  press  of  the  day's  work,  more  in  connection  with 
the  fact  that  he  felt  small  inclination  to  keep  his 
promise  to  take  Lilian  Otis  to  the  private  view  of 
some  late  acquisition  at  the  Hopkins  Art  Institute. 
He  had,  it  is  true,  noticed  an  insubordinate  de 
meanor  among  his  students  during  the  clinic  of  the 
afternoon,  but,  in  his  innocence,  had  referred  it  to 
the  tense  state  of  his  own  nerves,  and  let  it  pass 
without  rebuke. 

It  was  only  now,  at  this  last  hour  of  daylight, 
while  he  stood  indifferently  scanning  the  morning's 
paper,  that  the  truth  laughed  in  upon  him  through 
a  staring,  jocose  headline. 

He  read  it  to  the  end.  The  article,  for  all  its 
kindly  humor,  was  degrading  from  first  to  last  word. 
To  be  held  up  to  the  ridicule  of  the  public  gaze 
as  if  in  the  very  act  of  crawling  into  a  place  pla 
carded  with  "  No  admittance  "  for  such  as  he.  was 
an  indignity  utterly  confounding  to  his  proud  re 
serve.  Moreover  he  was  dumfounded.  When  he 
left  Stephen  Forrest  the  night  before,  he  had  felt 
assured  that  his  insolent  threat  had  been  but  an  ill- 
humored  jest  without  intention.  The  last  glimpse 
of  Jean  Willard's  face  had  brought  the  inflamed 
artist  to  a  brutal  straightforwardness  which  left  no 
room  for  doubt. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         163 

"  Enough  has  been  said,"  he  Had  flung  in  re 
sponse  to  the  physician's  command  to  halt.  "A 
scene  is  a  bore,  but  a  rehashing  of  it  in  any  form  is 
abhorrent.  A  dash  of  a  saving  sense  of  humor 
would  have  saved  all  of  us  from  an  awkward  leave- 
taking — and  I  think  we  both  understand  that  the 
case  is  closed,  Dr.  May.  Good  night." 

Philip's  dogged  sense  of  justice  acquitted  For 
rest  fully  and  freely  of  any  complicity  in  this  liter 
ary  thrust,  while  quickly  snatching  at  the  possibil 
ity  that  it  had  leaked  out  through  one  of  the  count 
less,  uncounted  exits  for  such  an  occurrence  in  such 
a  place. 

His  father  found  him  curiously  silent.  He  found 
his  father  curiously  loquacious.  After  two  minutes 
together  each  had  fathomed  the  other  without  an 
explanatory  word,  and  Philip,  looking  into  the 
flushed,  excited  old  face,  locked  his  conscience  into 
deeper  dungeons. 

"  You  had  better  go  to  bed  early,"  he  brought 
himself  to  say  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  "  You  seem 
nervous.  I'm  sorry  I  have  an  engagement." 

But  once  upon  the  street  on  the  way  to  the  Otis 
mansion,  calm  in  his  worldly,  non-committalism, 
he  was  conscious  of  a  peculiar  duality  of  personal 
ity — as  though  he,  Philip  May,  were  criticising  the 


164         HEIRS     OF    YESTEEDAY 

manner  in  which  Philip  May  was  about  to  play  his 
role  under  Miss  Otis's  enlightened  eyes.  They  had 
been  very  flattering  eyes,  very  gentle  and  womanly 
when  looking  into  his  but  two  days  back — they  had 
half-revealed,  half -withheld  a  story,  the  reading  of 
which  Philip  May  had  been  idly  postponing,  but 
which  he  promised  himself  he  would  glance  into 
to-night,  though  he  suddenly  realized,  with  a  sense 
of  surprise,  that  he  was  more  curious  than  con 
cerned. 

He  was  admitted  directly  into  her  presence.  He 
was  not  quite  clear  as  to  what  he  had  expected  in 
regard  to  her  attire,  but  there  was  something  about 
hers  as  she  came  toward  him  which  caught  his 
attention. 

"  Are  you  quite  well?  "  he  asked,  taking  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  in  his  hand. 

"Dear  me — why  so  professional  ?  "  she  smiled 
from  the  edge  of  her  lips,  the  baffling  brilliancy 
of  her  eyes  clouding  for  an  instant  as  she  looked  up 
into  his  strong,  quiet  face.  She  was  affecting  an 
unfamiliar  little  drawl  which  brought  an  amused 
gleam  to  his  eyes.  "  Or  is  it  merely  courtesy.  Be 
cause  Fm  not  very  well  to-night.  You  see  I  am 
dressed  to  stay  at  home.  It  was  too  late  to  send  you 
word  when  I  felt  the  headache  coming  on." 


HEIRS    OF.  YESTERDAY         165 

She  had  used  this  device  before  to  keep  him 
alone  with  her.  But  to-night  neither  her  attitude 
nor  her  eyes  asked  him  to  stay.  She  stood,  appar 
ently  careless  of  covering  over  the  awkwardness  of 
her  cold,  waiting  laugh  which  his  keen  ear  inter 
preted  as  a  polite  dismissal. 

He  smiled  in  disconcerting  comprehension. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  go  down  alone,"  he  said. 
"  Don't  let  me  keep  you  any  longer  than  necessary. 
I  am  sorry." 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  bad." 

"  Good  night." 

"  Good  night." 

Well!  That  was  neatly  dispatched.  He  drew  a 
breath  of  admiration  when  he  stood  again  without 
in  the  night,  and  almost  laughed  aloud. 

Unmistakably  well  done — clearly,  concisely, 
and  without  ado. 

But  upon  what  verdict  had  the  order  for  his 
social  quarantining  been  issued?  Jew — or  hypo 
crite? 

Hypocrite?  How?  In  presenting  his  creden 
tials  of  simple  manhood  without  an  irrelevant  pedi 
gree,  without  the  "  And  Abraham  begat  Isaac — and 
Isaac  begat  Jacob  " — etc.,  etc. 

—And  Joseph  begat  Philip. 


166         HEIKS     OF    YESTEEDAY 

Now  Philip  was  a  Jew — ? 

Jew?    How? 

Christ-killer. 

The  child's  incomprehensibility  was  at  last 
answered  in  the  mocking  irony  of  the  man. 

Yet  deep  within,  beneath  his  bitterly  flippant 
scoring,  he  could  feel  the  clamor  and  tumult  in 
his  breast  apprising  him  that  not  only  had  he  a  role 
to  play,  but  a  life  to  live.  And  the  possibility  of 
an  unsought  isolation  laughed  grimly  and  sicken- 
ingly  before  him.  He  was  too  young,  too  healthy, 
too  full  of  unproven  powers,  too  much  in  love  with 
his  fellows  and  their  approbation,  to  view  the  pros 
pect  with  equanimity.  Lilian  Otis,  he  knew,  was 
nothing  more  to  him  than  a  pleasant  part  of  his 
social  plan,  but  for  several  interminable  moments 
his  soul  felt  homeless  and  seedy — a  veritable  tramp 
of  a  soul  that  longed  to  vanish  for  a  space  out  of  the 
eye  of  a  former  high  estate. 

Yet  he  reached  his  own  door  hating  the  thought 
that,  for  a  second,  it  should  appear  to  him  as  a 
refuge.  What  had  happened  to  him?  Bah!  he  was 
still  Philip  May — the  man.  He  felt  the  quiet 
smile  of  conscious  power  upon  his  lips.  The  inci 
dent — folly,  perhaps — was  closed.  Life,  strong, 
earnest,  lay  all  before  him.  He  walked  quietly 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         167 

upstairs,  abstractedly  conscious  of  his  father's  voice 
escaping  through  the  closed  door  of  the  sitting- 
room,  and  made  his  way  toward  his  own  apartments 
at  the  back  of  the  house. 

His  study  was  cloaked  in  darkness,  its  windows 
thrown  wide  to  the  night.  As  he  entered  the  room, 
he  stopped  short  just  over  the  threshold. 

At  the  farther  window  of  the  other  house,  just 
facing  his,  sat  Jean  Willard,  her  face  peculiarly 
softened  by  the  night,  by  a  strange  pale  sadness 
shadowing  it. 

His  pulses  gave  a  happy  bound  toward  her. 
The  wild,  surmising  words  of  the  painter  swept 
blindly  through  his  memory — as  though,  in  one 
flash,  God  had  said,  "Let  there  be  light,"  and 
there  was — Jean.  And  in  one  flash,  here,  beyond 
the  dazzling  vanity  of  his  social  pretensions,  in  this 
back-window  of  his  life,  he  saw  that  she  was  per 
fect  for  love.  Saw  himself  closer  to  her  than  the 
arm's  breadth  dividing  her  window  from  his.  What 
if — .  He  was  facing  her. 

She  neither  saw  nor  heard  him;  she  sat  looking 
away,  her  elbows  on  the  sill,  her  chin  resting  on  her 
clasped  hands. 

He  leaned  against  the  casement,  bent  nearer  to 
her,  and  whispered  through  the  night: 


168         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

"Jean — sweet!"  His  voice  reached  her  in  a 
music  of  overpowering  yearning. 

She  started  violently,  sprang  to  her  feet,  her 
low  rocking-chair  swinging  wildly  back  into  the 
shadowy  room. 

She  stood  upright  and  stiff  before  him,  yet  with 
every  nerve  a-quiver.  There  would  be  no  feigning 
here,  no  lip-service  to  the  conventions  from  this 
daughter  of  an  intense,  a  tragic  people.  And  he 
understood  her  with  that  same  dim  sense  of  kin 
ship  which  had  assailed  him  before — kinship  with 
a  nature  in  its  depths  direct  and  stern  and  serious. 

"  No,"  he  said  swiftly,  "  do  not  misjudge  me. 
If  the  light  of  the  words  spoken  last  night  has — " 

But  he  had  not  gauged  her  wholly.  He  realized 
it  as  her  white,  fierce  face  struck  through  the  night, 
silencing  him. 

"  You  would  not  dare,"  she  breathed,  all  her 
passionate  soul  flaming  to  her  eyes,  her  romantic 
little  head  thrown  back  intolerantly,  "  you  would 
not  dare  to  imagine  you  owe  me  something  on  the 
score  of  that  outrage.  I  credited  you  at  least  with 
the  surface  delicacy  of  a  gentleman.  But — but 
since  you  have  gone  so  far,  I  will  not  evade  its  un- 
speakableness.  I  want  you  to  understand  just 
what  that  man  meant,  lest  you  gull  yourself  with 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         169 

another  supreme  pretension " — she  rushed  on 
heedlessly,  her  words  tumbling  pell-mell  upon  each 
other — "under  the  fallacy  of  a  distorted  report. 
Don't  misunderstand  me — I  am  neither  ashamed 
nor  afraid  of  the  truth — for  there  was  some  truth 
in  that  man's  charge,  but  not  as  your  egotism  must 
interpret  it.  Let  me  make  clear  to  you  the  bond  be 
tween  your  house  and  mine.  You — you  know  what 
those  two  old  men  down  there  are  to  each  other — 
you  know  the  God  they  worship  and  which  you 
ignore — but  possibly  you  do  not  know  the  house 
hold  god  of  clay  they  had  set  up  for  themselves 
through  all  the  years  of  your  strange,  unnatural 
absence — you  do  not  know  that  they  had  made 
your  name  the  watchword  and  hope  and  pride  of 
their  wistful  lives — you  did  not  know  with  what 
fanatic  joy  they  had  waited  for  your  return.  And 
I  am  linked  to  them,  I  followed  their  lead,  I  ac 
cepted  their  fetiches — I  bowed  to  their  idea  of  you, 
and  it  was  this  idea  of  a  man  captaining  his  own 
life  through  his  own  honest,  splendid  powers  that 
I  loved — not  you — never  you — and  even  you,  in 
the  slight  knowledge  you  have  of  me,  must  know 
that  for  you,  Philip  May  in  the  flesh,  you  whose 
loyalty  to  a  dying  friend  I  sentimentally  weighed 
in  your  favor  against  the  needs  of  an  old  father, 


170        HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

for  you  who  dare  to  despise  your  people  of  whom 
you  know  nothing  whatsoever,  for  you,  Philip  May, 
coward,  egoist,  and  snob,  I  have  nothing  but  utter 
detestation  and  contempt." 

She  paused,  trembling,  ashen  to  the  lips,  over 
mastered  by  the  storm  of  her  contention,  overleap 
ing  all  bounds  in  her  desperate  self-defense.  She 
met  his  gaze  intolerantly. 

He  was  studying  her  quietly.  How  her  little 
rushlight  knowledge,  her  drawing-room  ethics,  her 
pulpit-broad  judgments,  glowed  through  and 
transfigured  her!  But  her  passion  had  stirred 
something*  elemental,  overwhelming  him  as  the 
other  girl's  controlled  evasion  never  could  have 
done.  She  stood  before  him,  lovely  and  forbidding 
— at  once  his  conscience  and  despair. 

"  You  are  mistaken  in  my  motive,"  he  an 
swered,  gently.  "  But  at  any  rate,  in  your  grand 
sum  total  of  me,  we  are,  for  this  moment,  quite 
at  one." 

She  turned  from  him  into  the  dark. 

And  downstairs,  as  though  above  the  cackle  of 
the  disinterested,  Joseph  May  was  holding  forth, 
against  all  the  world.  "I  tell  you,  Daniel,"  he 
cried,  pounding  the  table  in  his  emphasis,  "  all  the 
doctors  in  the  city  is  talking  about  him.  You 


HEIES     OF    YESTERDAY         171 

know  what  Thallman  says  to  me  yesterday?  ( Mr. 
May,'  he  says, ( we'll  all  be  breaking  our  necks  just 
to  see  Dr.  May  get  in  some  of  his  clever  work.' 
And,  by  Gott!  he  meant  it.  He's  young,  but  he's 
on  the  top  already.  Say,  Daniel,  what  did  I  always 
tell  you? — a  prince,  a  vdhre  prince! "  He  swag 
gered,  he  strutted,  with  expanded  chest  and  danger 
ously  flushed  cheeks.  The  cards  lay  in  disorder 
upon  the  table.  The  old  man  measured  the  floor 
with  restless  feet,  talking  Daniel  down  and  out  of 
all  confidence.  There  was  no  shame  to  be  found 
here,  no  knuckling  down  under  the  world's  coarse 
thumb.  He  had  played  his  part  of  know-nothing 
throughout  the  day  even  to  the  deceiving  of  his 
friend,  but  at  the  last  hour  he  was  overdoing  it, 
and  Daniel  saw  through  the  fierce  pride  of  it.  He 
longed  to  tell  him  to  hush,  he  had  tried  to  leave 
him,  hoping  the  excited  heart  might  find  rest  in 
sleep,  but  Joseph's  insistence  forbade  it,  Joseph's 
bravado  demanded  he  sit  there  silent,  and  blind, 
and  deaf  to  the  truth. 

"Do  you  know,  Joseph,"  he  ventured,  finally, 
"  I  feel  a  little  tired?  And  you,  don't  you  think  it 
time  for  two  little  children  like  you  and  me  to  be 
in  bed?  Me,  I  am  a  little  tired." 

"So?    I  never  felt  younger  in  all  my  life.    But 


172         HEIKS     OF    YESTERDAY 

then,  you  see,  my  son  he  is  my  tonic."  He  laughed 
boisterously. 

"  It  may  be.  I  hope  so.  I  was  glad  he  came 
in,  even  for  a  little  while,  last  night." 

"  And  why  he  shouldn't  come  in?  You  make 
me  sick  sometimes,  Daniel,  when  you  speak  about 
nothing  like  if  it  was  something  wonderful."  He 
glared  a  moment,  then  laughed  weakly.  "  Well, 
my  DOV>  when  you  are  sleepy  you  can  go  home. 
For  me,  I  think  I  will  wait  a  little  for  Philip." 

"  Well,  good  night,  Joseph.    Sleep  well." 

"  Good  night,  Daniel.  To-morrow  afternoon  I 
think  I'll  go  me  a  little  to  the  club.  I  don't  know 
when  I  had  a  game  at  the  club.  You  can  tell 
Jean — when  there  is  something  good  at  the  the- 
ay-ter  this  week — she  can  get  seats  for  you  and  me. 
I  don't  know  when  I  was  to  the  the-ay-ter." 


CHAPTER  X 

Philip  May  stepped  out  of  his  peculiar  social 
fiasco  into  the  work  of  the  next  day.  Released 
from  his  vain,  guarded  intimacy  with  the  Otises, 
unfettered  by  any  other  distracting  personal  ties, 
he  was  free  to  apply  all  his  thought  and  strength 
to  the  chosen  field  in  which  he  felt  himself  master. 
And  making  his  rounds  from  patient  to  patient, 
from  hospital  to  office,  often  passing  half  the  night 
in  the  operating-room,  there  was  little  left  to  recall 
him  to  the  memory  or  regret  of  a  trivial  social 
defeat,  save  the  figure  of  a  girl  passing  him  with 
averted  gaze,  and  the  furrow-browed  old  man 
who  had  drawn  so  close  to  him  in  His  social  seclu 
sion  that  his  bearing  might  have  been  called  ten 
derness  in  a  more  demonstrative  nature.  His  total 
aloofness  from  club  and  drawing-room  life  soon 
carried  the  story  of  his  derided  self-valuation 
beyond  the  gabble  and  concern  of  current  gossip. 

Even  Jean  Willard,  after  her  first  fierce  sob 
bing  regret  had  spent  itself,  striving  to  shrug  down 
the  painful  memory  of  her  impetuous  part  in  it, 


174         HEIES     OF    YESTERDAY 

asked  herself  wearily  what  it  would  matter — to 
anyone — a  hundred  years  hence!  Not  much,  truly. 
Infinity  is  wide  and  the  gods  do  exquisitely  fine 
work.  But  to  Jean — then — much.  It  is  never  a 
question  of  a  hundred  years,  or  months,  or  weeks, 
or  days  hence — it  is  always  a  question  of  now,  of 
to-day,  with  its  storm  and  stress,  its  laughter  and 
tears,  its  mistakes  and  achievements,  its  hopes  and 
despairs.  That  alone  concerns  us.  We  cannot 
shift  our  burdens  and  responsibilities  with  a  shrug. 
To  earnest  minds  like  Jean  Willard's,  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  resignation  or  indifference.  Human 
ity  climbs  upward  with  a  groan,  and  the  history 
of  individuals,  as  of  nations,  is  the  record  of  a  few 
passionate  moments  of  striving — of  love  or  hate, 
of  defeat  or  victory. 

Who,  questioned  Jean,  in  her  self-scourging, 
had  constituted  her  his  judge?  Who  was  she  that 
she  had  dared  to  hold  the  mirror  to  his  face?  In 
her  bitter  self -prosecution  she  forgot  her  instigat 
ing  excuses;  in  trying  to  be  just,  she  beat  herself 
into  seeing  through  his  eyes.  But  quite  oblivious 
to  her  mental  captivity  or  the  loss  of  her  old  inde 
pendence  of  opinion,  she  began  to  think,  to  speak, 
through  Philip  May's  intuitively  surmised  tastes 
and  distastes.  Her  friends  found  her  changed, 


HEIES     OF    YESTEEDAY         175 

intolerant,  hypercritical.  She  thought  she  was 
piercing  through  the  familiar  face  of  things  down 
to  their  truth  in  relation  to  the  whole  world — and 
growing  sadder  in  her  knowledge.  The  dream 
being  knocked  from  under  her,  the  plunge  into 
reality  left  her  in  that  state  of  despairing 
pessimism  common  to  all  young  people  until  they 
get  their  bearings,  when  they  find  that  another 
view  is  never  the  whole  view. 

Everything  and  everybody  within  her  range  of 
observation,  from  the  idiosyncrasies  of  her  nearest 
to  those  of  the  scarcely  noticeable  Jewish  passer-by, 
revealed  another  justifiable  peg  to  hand  Philip's  so 
cial  apostasy  upon.  Nothing  was  too  sacred  or  too 
low  to  escape  her  half-frightened  scrutiny — and 
presently  she  found  herself  contorted  into  Philip 
May's  ally,  a  spy  to  all  her  own  and  her  friends' 
movements  and  motives.  Formerly,  she  told  her 
self  cynically,  she  saw  as  through  a  glass — rosily; 
now,  face  to  face.  And  she  called  it  Eevelation. 
But  there  was  one  phase  of  her  stand  which  she 
fully  appreciated.  Where  Philip  May  had  found 
his  excuse  for  withdrawal,  she  had  found  only 
another  claim  upon  her  loyalty.  Philip  May  had 
taken  a  snap-shot  at  the  unattractive  face  turned 
up  to  him,  and  looked  away  from  it  with  frank 


176         HEIRS     OF    YESTEEDAY 

and  frigid  disfavor.  But  the  snap-shot  being 
passed  on  to  Jean,  though  she  recognized  the  linea 
ments,  she  stood  immovable  beside  it,  passing  over 
it  her  tender,  protecting  hand. 

"I  hate  him,"  she  told  herself  when  in  this 
attitude  of  defiance. 

But  closer,  more  poignant  than  these  imper 
sonal  inconsistencies  battling  within  her,  was  the 
memory  of  his  voice  whispering  to  her  across  the 
night.  It  hushed  all  her  old  high  voices,  it  crushed 
through  the  idealist  to  her  imperfect  humanity,  it 
drew  her  as  the  pole  the  star,  it  made  all  else  as 
the  writing  in  the  sand,  and  she  followed,  fol 
lowed — till,  setting  her  teeth  in  imagination,  she 
saw  the  possible  chivalrous  motive  behind  his  act, 
and  turned  intolerantly  from  its  insufferable  sug 
gestion. 

Moreover,  her  most  strenuous  effort  to  dismiss 
him  from  thought  was  wasted  through  the  nature 
of  their  propinquity.  If,  in  passing  from  his  sight 
that  night,  she  had  put  him  out  of  her  life,  she 
might  have  laid  the  ghost  of  the  memory.  This, 
however,  was  denied  her.  Day  after  day  they  met 
on  the  doorstep  as  both  were  coming  in  or  going 
out,  day  after  day  their  eyes  might  have  met  as  he 
stepped  from  his  carriage  and  she  came  out  of  her 


HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY        177 

front  door.  But,  as  if  by  mutual  consent,  they 
avoided  the  visual  encounter,  though  Jean  knew 
distinctly  enough  that  his  eyes  had  held  her.  And 
there  was  a  charm  of  misery  about  these  avoided 
encounters,  which  she,  in  another  inconsistency, 
realized  with  relentless  self-contempt.  Though 
she  gave  herself  up  to  the  gospel  of  constant  occu 
pation,  she  could  not  separate  herself  from  warring 
thought  of  him.  The  very  walls  of  the  house  next 
door  held  a  sinister  attraction  for  her,  as  though 
his  association  with  them  had  imbued  them  with 
something  of  his  personality. 

But  the  interior  of  the  walls  knew  her  no  more — 
she  had  effectually  barred  herself  out  of  them. 
The  two  old  men,  her  friends,  were  cognizant  of 
this,  each  in  his  own  degree.  Her  uncle  viewed 
her  changed  attitude  with  stern  sadness,  but  in 
Joseph  May's  silent  heart  a  bitter  animosity  had 
arisen  against  the  girl.  He  knew  the  kernel  of 
justice  within  that  garbled  newspaper  jeer,  but 
how  could  she  have  known?  And  since  this  alone, 
this  shadow  of  an  alien  hand,  had  been  enough  for 
her  to  condemn — then  enough  of  her!  He  held 
her  at  arm's  length  now,  the  girl  who  had  been  the 
darling  of  those  long  since  forsaken  hopes.  In  the 
beginning  Jean  had  striven  to  bridge  over  the 


178         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

hiatus  in  her  attentions  by  an  added  warmth  of 
tenderness  when  they  met,  but,  with  a  curious  dig 
nity  of  reticence,  Joseph  May  chilled  her  into  a 
stranger.  He  stood  so  close  to  his  son  in  his  part- 
deliberate,  part-inevitable  retirement,  that  a  con 
temptuous  thought  in  the  latter's  direction 
included  the  old  man  in  its  sting.  He  declined  to 
accompany  them  on  their  summer  trip  through  the 
beautiful  southern  part  of  the  State,  although 
Daniel  reminded  him  that  he  was  breaking  a 
promise. 

"What  I  shall  do  there?"  he  asked,  with  a 
shrug.  "  I  did  enough  traveling  when  I  had  to, 
with  my  pack  on — ."  The  father  of  his  son  inter 
rupted  the  reminiscence. 

Upon  the  return  of  the  Willards,  the  former 
relations  between  the  two  old  friends  were 
resumed,  and  almost  nightly  they  might  have  been 
seen  taking  their  stroll  in  the  lingering  light  of 
the  lovely  summer  evenings,  sometimes  accom 
panied  by  the  slender  girl,  who  often  willfully  shut 
her  eyes  to  Joseph's  uncompromising  distance  of 
manner,  conducting  herself  as  though  nothing  had 
ever  come  between  them.  Thus  a  woman  loiters 
on  between  the  seen  and  the  unseen,  though  only 
the  seen,  unbroken  line  is  called  her  life. 


HEIRS     OF    YESTEEDAY         179 

That  the  flashing  confusion  of  that  Passover 
evening  had  left  an  ineffaceable  impression  in 
another  conscience,  Jean  discovered  one  golden 
morning  in  early  September  while  out  shopping 
with  Laura  Brookman.  They  had  about  com 
pleted  some  order  at  Vickery's  when  the  sales 
man,  knowing  their  artistic  proclivities,  asked 
them  to  step  for  a  minute  into  the  little  picture- 
gallery  at  the  back  of  the  shop. 

"Mr.  Stephen  Forrest  has  a  few  canvases  on 
exhibition,  and  I  think  his  work  will  interest  you," 
he  said.  "  He  is  going  abroad  next  week,  and  it's 
a  pleasure  to  see  him  at  last  getting  the  apprecia 
tion  he  deserves.  Most  of  the  pictures  have  been 
sold."  He  ushered  them  into  the  soft  glow  of 
light,  and  left  them. 

There  were  not  many,  and  all  were  studies  of 
heads,  but  the  peculiar  power  of  character-insight 
displayed  was  smiting.  Jean,  lost  in  unbiased 
admiration  before  a  subtle  Chinese  face,  was 
abruptly  dragged  from  her  place  by  a  compelling 
hand  upon  her  arm. 

"  Come  over  here,"  murmured  Mrs.  Brookman, 
excitedly,  leading  her  before  a  tiny  painting  almost 
lost  among  the  others.  "When  did  you  sit — or 


180         HEIRS     OF    YESTEBDAY 

stand — for  this?  What  does  that  expression 
mean?" 

Jean  stood  before  the  proud,  sad  protest  of  her 
own  face  as  Stephen  Forrest's  inward  light  had 
seen  fit  to  transfer  her. 

"What  are  you  defying — what  is  it  called?  I 
must  have  that,"  Laura  declared,  enthusiastically. 
"  It  is  you  in  one  of  your  most  charming,  unap 
proachable  phases.  I  wonder  if  it  is  sold." 

"The  picture  is  not  for  sale,"  said  a  sudden 
cool,  low  voice  behind  them.  Jean,  recognizing  it 
at  once,  did  not  turn,  but  Laura  veered  eagerly 
upon  the  delicate-visaged  artist  standing  near. 

"  Are  you  sure?  "  she  asked,  doubtingly. 

"  Quite.    It  is  mine." 

"  Do  you — then  you  can  tell  me  what  it  is 
called?" 

"  <  The  Jewess/  » 

"  Oh!  "  Laura's  eyes  scanned  it  again  with  light 
ening  vision.  "  And  the  attitude — I  was  wonder 
ing  what  she  was  defying." 

"  Prejudice." 

"  Ah!  "    Laura  raised  her  lorgnon  again. 

Jean  turned  swiftly  about.  "I  congratulate 
you,"  she  said,  abruptly. 

The  blood  surged  to  his  brow.    "  For  this?  "  he 


HEIES     OF    YESTERDAY         181 

pleaded,  indistinctly,  designating  the  picture 
before  them. 

"  I  thank  you  for  that.  I  congratulate  you  on 
the  others.  I  wish  you  all  success.  Are  you  com 
ing,  Laura?  " 

Mrs.  Brookman  followed  her  into  the  street. 

"  Was  that  Stephen  Forrest?  "  she  asked,  curi 
ously,  as  they  turned  westward. 

"  Yes." 

"  When  did  you  pose  for  him — whose  idea  was 
it?  Tell  me  about  it." 

"  There's  nothing  to  tell.  It  was  done  from 
memory." 

"How  curt  you  are!  What  is  tne  matter  with 
you?" 

"  Nothing — only  Fm  dead  tired." 

"  Jean — I  mean,  perhaps  we  had  better  take 
the  car." 

"  No.  You  said  you  wanted  to  walk — to  keep 
your  figure  within  decent  dimensions."  Her  eyes 
traveled  over  her  friend's  well-corseted  form. 
"  How  stiffly  you  lace  yourself  in,"  she  observed, 
absently,  as  they  walked  on  at  a  rapid  pace. 

"  I  haven't  your  willowy  ease,  dear,  I  know, 
and  I  have  to  keep  my  weight  and  my  hips  down — 


182         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

or  your  eyes  will  be  calling  me  '  Jewess/  from 
another  light." 

Jean  laughed  shortly. 

Laura  stole  a  swift  glance  at  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Jean? "  she 
begged,  finally.  "  You  have  grown  so  moody  of 
late  I  scarcely  recognize  you." 

Jean  forgot  to  answer. 

"Dear,  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  Mrs. 
Brookman  began  presently,  a  ring  of  stubborn  pur 
pose  in  her  voice. 

"  Ask  away,  Laura." 

"  You  met  a  man  at  my  house  one  night — " 

"And  that's  all." 

"  No,  it  isn't.  And  now  that  I've  begun,  you're 
not  going  to  silence  me  with  your  '  that's  all ' — 
it  is  difficult  enough  broaching  a  subject  of  this 
kind  with  you.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
Theodore  Hart?  Oh,  wouldn't  I  like  to  shake 
you  with  that  indifferent  look  on  your  face!  " 

"How  can  you  feel  so  violent  and  talk  so 
much — on  such  a  warm  day?  " 

"  Very  well.  If  you  can  no  longer  be  direct 
with  me — " 

"  I  told  you — I  met  a  man  at  your  house,  and 
that's  all." 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         183 

"  Not  according  to  his  view.  What  do  you 
object  to  in  him?  " 

"  Him." 

"What  can  you  see  against  him?  " 

"  His  face." 

"  Oh,  I  know  he's  not  Apollo,  but  you  have 
managed  to  care  for  some  homelier  people  in  your 
life — Paul  Stein,  for  instance." 

"  Paul  is  beautiful — to  me.  Don't  put  his  face 
in  the  same  category  with  Theodore  Hart's." 

"What  is  so  repugnant  to  you  in  Theodore 
Hart's  face?" 

"  The  past." 

"Bosh!  Every  man  has  a  past  or  two.  Were 
you  raised  in  a  nunnery?" 

"  No.    A  man — my  uncle,  you  know,  raised  me." 

"  Too  high,  sweet,  for  comfort.  And  you  know 
the  best  posterity  is  being  made  now  from  the 
power  of  riches.  That  is  where  the  philosophy — 
the  religion  of  mammonism  comes  in." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"  Great  God,  there  you  persist — " 

"  Don't  be  so  exaggerated  in  your  exclamations ; 
it's  blasphemous  to  begin  with,  and  dreadfully 
Jewish  to  end  with." 

Mrs.  Brookman  regarded  the  girl  with  a  smile 


184         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

of  curiosity.  "  Do  you  know  you  have  said  such 
things  to  me  very  often  lately?  What  is  it? 
Another  effect  of  Philip  May's  ridiculous  act  of 
disdain?" 

Silence  gathered  around  Jean's  heart  and  lips. 

"  You  look  exactly  like  that  picture  now.  But 
to  come  back  to  our  discussion.  Leaving  out  what 
you  choose  to  call  his  past,  will  you  admit  his 
desirability  from  every  other  point  of  view?  " 

"  According  to  society's  valuation — yes." 

"Don't  forget  that  his  connections  are  irre 
proachable,  and  in  the  matter  of  connections, 
esthetically  speaking,  a  Jew  or  Jewess  generally 
takes  risks  when  she  marries.  And  do  you  know 
the  power  of  great  wealth?  " 

"  I  have  never  tested  it — I  can  imagine  it,  how 
ever.  I  admit  it  is  a  very  tempting  vision." 

"  At  last  we  come  to  the  point.  And  you  know 
it  is  yours — for  a  word." 

Jean  slowly  turned  her  eyes  upon  her  friend. 
There  was  something  so  quietly  hopeless  in  her 
gaze  that  the  older  woman  felt  the  dew  spring  to 
her  brow.  "  So  you  too  are  an  advocate  of  these 
legalized  prostitutions,"  the  girl  said,  wearily. 

Mrs.  Brookman's  burning  cheek  turned  quietly 
gray.  "  How  naive,"  she  returned,  with  a  forced 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         185 

laugh.  "  At  that  rate,  half  the  young  women  of 
your  acquaintance  are — that's  a  hateful  word, 
Jean." 

"More  hateful  than  the  thing  itself?  Do  let 
us  call  things  by  their  right  names,  Laura.  Oh, 
don't  imagine  I  condemn  them  in  the  gross.  Some 
of  them  walk  into  it  innocently  enough — they 
know  nothing  different  or  better,  poor,  dear,  little, 
happy  things.  It  is  only  those  who  do  know  about 
whom  I  feel  rather  contemptuous." 

"  Still  hitching  your  wagon  to  a  higher  star! " 

"  I  was  born  that  way — brought  up  that  way," 
resisted  Jean,  passionlessly.  "  The  copy-books  used 
to  say  it  was  a  good  way." 

"Oh,  the  copy-books.  But  aren't  you  afraid 
you  may  finally  choose  a  falling  star — and  have  a 
tumble — and  get  hurt?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Jean,  her  lips  closing  like  a 
seal  over  the  word. 

"It  is  better  to  choose  a  post — it  is  safer." 

"  No,"  answered  Jean,  quietly. 

The  spot  of  color  burned  up  again  in  Mrs. 
Brookman's  cheek.  "  You  put  yourself  above  the 
plane  of  life,"  she  said,  harshly.  "  You  will  come 
down — some  day." 

"I  hope  not." 


186         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  Oh,  you  hope  not.  Do  you  know  what  hope 
is?" 

"  I  forget — it  used  to  be  in  those  stupid  copy 
books.  It's  out  of  print  now." 

"  Heavens — pardon,  that's  Jewish — but  what  a 
thing  to  say! " 

"Well,  what  is  hope?" 

"  Hope,  Jean,  is  only  winged,  or,  rather,  blind 
desire.  It  has  neither  feet  nor  eyes.  Use  a  more 
tangible  argument." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  not.  Is  that  enough?" 
Her  quick,  hot  temper  blazed  momentarily  in  a 
flash  of  her  eyes. 

"Many  fools  have  said  that,"  persisted  Laura 
Brookman. 

"  Then  I  am  one  of  many.    Let  me  alone." 

"  But  they  all  came  down — by  and  by,"  the 
ironical  voice  pursued.  "  They  started  out  glo 
rious  and  free — as  you — those  fool  girls.  They 
said — as  you  are  saying  to  yourself — somewhere  in 
the  world  I  shall  meet  some  one  who  shall  be  all 
in  all  to  me,  who  shall  king  it  over  me  as  I  shall 
queen  it  over  him — and  all  that  romantic  stuff — 
whose  thoughts  and  hopes  and  aspirations  and 
loves  and  desires  shall  be  like  unto  mine  as  flowers 
sprung  from  the  same  seed  are  like  unto  each 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         187 

other — and  we  shall  be  one,  as  the  Lord  God  is 
one,  comprising  all  things.  They  went  as  far  as  to 
think  the  thing  sacred — poor  imbeciles.  And  some 
of  them  never  met  the  other,  and  some  of  them 
found  it  all  a  delusion,  and  some  of  them  found — 
just  life." 

"  And  then?  "  Something  clutched  Jean  by  the 
throat  as  she  listened — something  passionately  per 
sonal,  unspoken,  beneath  the  dreary  generality  of 
the  spoken. 

"  And  then  they  took  the  next  best  that  came 
along — some  soon,  some  later,  some  fighting  it  out 
to  the  vain  end,  but  they  all  gave  in  finally.  And 
some  of  them  found  it  was  best,  not  second  best, 
but  best/' 

"Why?" 

"  Because  there  are  other  sides  to  a  woman's 
soul  which  need  fulfilling — and  fate  proved  kinder 
to  them  than  it  once  seemed  it  ever  meant  to  be. 
It's  not  all  a  giving  and  having,  this  bundle  of 
emotions  called  womanhood — it's  a  being,  too,  and 
every  woman  is  potentially  other  things  besides  a 
lover — a  mother,  for  instance.  And  the  senti 
mental  regret  is  forgotten  when  she  presses  her 
cheek  to  her  child's,  and  she  finds  she  has  nothing 
to  regret  when  she  has  provided  her  child  with  the 


188         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

wherewithal  for  all  the  complex  needs  of  life, 
including  a  good  father,  who  is  also  a  good  and 
loving  husband,  for  whom,  through  a  wise  provi 
sion  in  the  virtuous  feminine  make-up,  she  feels 
nothing  but  tenderness  and  loyalty.  And  then  she 
understands  that  perhaps  her  dream  went  wrong 
for  the  sake  of  a  wider  plan."  Gradually  the  intense 
vibration  in  the  voice  had  subsided  till  the 
sound  was  like  a  peaceful,  monotonous  lilt.  She 
was  gazing  impassively  ahead. 

Suddenly  she  felt  the  girl's  distended  eyes  upon 
her.  "For  heaven's  sake,  Jean,"  she  laughed, 
"  don't  stare  at  me  with  that  tragic  face.  Has 
the  bottom  fallen  out  of  your  sky?  I  was  just  talk 
ing  highfalutin'  for  the  occasion— letting  you 
know  that  there  is  generally  some  nameless  first 
affair  lying  among  the  hie  jacets  of  most  hearts, 
so  as  to  give  you  the  courage  of  a  sense  of  compan 
ionship—just  giving  you  a  little  impromptu  on 
the  eternal  theme — love  with  variations."  She 
laughed  merrily.  "  Are  you  ready  for  the  wedding 
to-morrow?  My  gown  is  a  dream.  I  may  send  the 
carriage  around  for  you  first  so  as  to  give  my  lazy 
man  a  few  minutes'  grace.  What  will  you  wear? 
Which  hat  did  you  choose?  " 

"My  tan  cloth.     I  took  the  black  velvet  hat 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         189 

with  the  plumes.  Who  will  be  there  worth  dress 
ing  for— Paul?" 

"Paul?  I  suppose  so — he  and  Dr.  Thallman 
have  grown  quite  intimate.  I  suppose  some  of  the 
doctor's  confreres  will  be  there,  but  I'm  sorry,  for 
your  sake,  that  Theodore  Hart  is  not  acquainted." 
She  laughed  a  teasing  laugh. 

Jean  carried  an  aching  sense  of  its  artificiality 
into  the  house  with  her.  She  carried  it  with  her 
the  next  day  to  Dr.  Thallman's  wedding,  where 
they  found  Paul  Stein  waiting  for  them  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  before  entering  the  already  crowded, 
rose-breathing  drawing-room.  She  found  herself 
twisting  the  memory  of  his  and  Laura's  old  college 
friendship  and  his  long  grind  against  poverty  into 
the  golden  glamour  which  Charles  Brookman  had 
so  successfully  flung  around  her.  The  materiality 
of  it  all  sickened  Jean,  even  while  she  listened  to 
the  simple,  earnest  service  which  "  maketh  the 
bridegroom  to  rejoice  with  the  bride."  She 
scarcely  noticed  when  the  ring  was  placed,  the 
beautiful  blessing  spoken,  the  binding  kiss  given. 

She  was  brought  to  earth  by  a  sudden  buzz  of 
joyousness  and  the  merry  pressing  forward  to  con 
gratulate  the  smiling  pair  under  the  canopy  of 
roses. 


190         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Weiss/'  she  laughed,  stepping  back. 
"I  almost  threw  you.  Won't  you  stand  in  my 
place?  I  am  going  to  wait  with  the  less  intimate. 
How  well  you  are  looking."  She  slipped  aside  to 
let  the  pudgy  old  lady  wedge  herself  in. 

Mrs.  Weiss  grasped  her  arm.  "You  like  my 
bonnet?"  confided  the  fat,  coaxing  voice,  while 
the  fat,  comfortable  hands  folded  themselves  in 
white-gloved  comfort  over  the  fat,  comfortable 
stomach.  "  You  see,  I  got  no  daughter  to  tell  me, 
and  my  Sam — what  he  knows  about  bonnets?  He 
says,  '  Ma,  you're  a  peach,'  and  he  kisses  me,  and 
that  settles  it.  I  only  bought  it  yesterday — on 
aggravation.  I  told  my  milliner  to  put  regrets  in 
it,  but  she  used  her  own  conveyance  and  put  a 
feather  in  instead.  And  you  really  think  I  look 
nice  in  it  so,  Miss  Willard  ?  " 

A  girl  behind  Jean  giggled  and  the  latter 
had  some  ado  to  keep  her  own  lips  in  order.  "  It 
is  truly  a  very  pretty  bonnet,"  Jean  pleasantly 
assured  her. 

"  And  you  got  good  taste,  too,"  nodded  Mrs. 
Weiss,  approvingly,  her  eyes  traveling  over  the 
exquisite  grace  of  the  girl's  toilet.  "  Wait  a  min 
ute—I  want  to  tell  you  that  that  baker  Schwab 
is  out  of  work  again.  The  Sisterhood  is  tired  of 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         191 

finding  places  for  him  what  he  don't  keep.  But 
say,  Miss  Willard,  four  little  children,  and  that 
schlemielich  wife  of  his  who  is  too  proud  to  work 
because  she  was  educated  in  a  cemetery!  " 

"We'll  have  to  find  something  for  him/'  said 
Jean,  lightly.  "  You  and  I'll  take  a  tramp  among 
the  bakers  to-morrow  morning." 

a  Oh,  yes,  take  a  tramp!  You  know  how  old 
my  legs  is,  my  dear?  Seventy- two  yesterday.  They 
don't  go  like  they  used  to,  but  I  guess  they're 
always  good  for  one  tramp  more.  All  right,  you 
come  get  me  to-morrow  morning  then.  Ain't  it  the 
bride  looks  sweet?  " 

The  cooing,  contented  voice  moved  on. 

Jean  met  the  merry  eyes  of  a  tall,  slender  young 
woman,  unmistakably  a  Gentile,  whom  she  recog 
nized  as  Miss  Goyne,  an  old  classmate  and  intimate 
friend  of  the  bride. 

"  Wasn't  she  quaint  ?  "  laughed  Miss  Goyne,  in 
low-voiced  delight. 

Jean  thought  Miss  Goyne's  euphemism  deli 
cious,  and  laughed  responsively.  "  She's  a  dear 
old  soul,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  so  interesting,"  the  girl  babbled  on,  with 
bright  eyes.  "You  know  Cecile  and  I  are  old 
schoolmates,  but  after  we  left  school  our  social 


192         HEIKS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

ways  separated  somewhat,  though  Cecile  and  I 
would  not  give  each  other  up  for  the  world.  And 
I  am  always  so  interested  in  everything  she  tells 
me  about  her  friends." 

Unconsciously,  there  was  that  in  her  tone  which 
suggested  the  "  citizen "  speaking  of  the 
"  stranger/'  Jean  felt  it,  and  a  little  amused 
smile,  born  of  a  memory  of  just  such  a  smile  on 
Philip  May's  lips,  showed  a  tiny  edge  of  her  teeth. 
Miss  Goyne  thought  her  quiet.  But  she  also  found 
hers  the  most  attractive  personality  present,  and 
being  slightly  acquainted  with  her,  decided  to 
attach  herself  to  her  during  the  "interesting" 
occasion. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  the  girl  below  her  breath, 
"  there  is  Dr.  May.  Do  you  know  him?  I  think — " 
She  paused  to  bow.  "  He  is  looking  straight  at  us. 
I  think  he  is  so  distinguished-looking,  don't  you? 
I  met  him  at  the  Otises' — Dr.  Otis,  you  know — 
and  we  all  thought  him  so  charming  until  that 
horrid  newspaper  article  appeared." 

"  And  then  you  ceased  to  find  him  charming?  " 

"Well,  you  know  how  it  is.  We  think  very 
little  of  a  man  who  is  ashamed  of  his  religion,  of 
course.  We  all  respect  you  so  much  and  think  it 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         193 

is  lovely  of  you  when  you  keep  up  the  forms  and 
everything." 

"That  is  nice  of  you,"  said  Jean,  pleasantly. 
She  knew  that  "  condescending  "  or  "  consistent  " 
would  have  better  expressed  her  acknowledgment 
of  the  girl's  estimate,  but  graciously  chose  the 
more  gracious  epithet. 

"  We  were  so  surprised,"  confided  Miss  Goyne, 
gently.  "You  see  he  has  none  of  the  character 
istics — " 

"  Caricaturistics,"  corrected  Jean,  with  a  soft 
laugh  in  her  eyes. 

"  What?  Oh!  "  She  hesitated,  smiled  vaguely 
in  response  to  Jean's  playful  smile,  but  was  saved 
any  further  interpretation  by  a  sudden  swaying 
sensation  which  separated  them  abruptly. 

The  next  instant  the  house  was  shaken  like  a 
rat  in  the  clutch  of  a  terrier,  chandeliers  swung 
violently  from  side  to  side,  bells  jangled,  windows 
and  porcelain  rattled,  dogs  barked  wildly  in  the 
street.  .  .  .  The  swaying  subsided.  It  had 
lasted  exactly  seventeen  seconds — a  lifetime  of 
mortal  terror,  as  many  of  the  unconscious  appeals 
to  the  Great  Unknown  testified.  Jean  found  her 
self  in  the  doorway,  her  hand  upon  Philip  May's 
arm,  his  hand  over  hers. 


194         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  You  were  frightened/'  he  said,  quietly,  his 
eyes  upon  her  pale  face. 

"  An  earthquake  always  frightens  me/'  she  said, 
in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Come  with  me/'  he  murmured.  "  Let  me  get 
you  something — " 

"  No,  no.  Thank  you.  I  am  all  right."  She 
drew  her  hand  from  his  and  turned  away. 

"  Well,"  laughed  a  familiar  voice  above  the  hys 
terical  hubbub,  while  Paul  Stein's  long  arms 
stretched  above  several  lower  heads  and  drew  her 
into  a  corner,  "that  was  a  close  call,  friend 
o'  mine." 

"  They  always  seem  to  be,"  she  answered, 
through  pale  lips. 

"  I'm  not  speaking  of  the  shake-up,  but  of  what 
would  have  proven  a  shake-down  on  your  head  of 
that  bust  over  the  door  if  Dr.  May  hadn't  caught 
it  in  time.  Come,  get  some  color  into  your  face 
again;  it's  all  over,  and  everybody's  safe.  Listen, 
the  musicians  are  triumphing  over  our  fear.  Shall 
I  get  you  something  to  drink?" 

"  No ;  please  don't  notice  me,  Paul.  Talk 
away,  there's  a  dear  fellow." 

"  I  was  just  wondering  what  was  the  reason  of 
his,  Dr.  May's,  being  here,  and  had  about  con- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         195 

eluded  it  was  mere  professional  etiquette,  Thall- 
man  being,  or  having  been,  his  father's  physician — 
but  now  I  see  it  was  only  to  save  your  precious 
head.  Some  one  behind  me — I  think  it  was  that 
delightfully  ubiquitous  Sam  Weiss — was  pointing 
him  out  to  some  girl  as  { the  Jew  who  would  be 
Gentile/  quite  in  the  spirit  in  which  the  Gentiles 
flogged  him  through  the  press,  and  so  saved  Weiss 
his  vengeance — I  hope.  If  you'd  turn  your  head, 
Jean,  you'd  see  how  he  seems  to  outman  every 
other  man  present.  Candidly,  my  inclinations 
yearn  toward  him.  I'm  ashamed  to  say  it,  in  that 
he  hath  done  what  he  hath  done — because,  though, 
in  the  eye  of  the  world,  when  a  man  sins  he  pun 
ishes  himself  only,  yet  when  a  Jew  steps  aside  he 
drags  the  whole  race  after  him,  and  we  are  always 
answered  with  our  own  old  clan  cry,  ( Responsible 
one  for  the  other/  There,  I've  talked  you  back 
into  some  likeness  of  yourself.  Now  our  distin 
guished  subject  of  conversation  and  Dr.  Suther 
land,  I  believe,  are  offering  their  congratulations 
and — actually  taking  leave,  after  a  necessary 
attendance  of  half  an  hour.  Shall  we  speak  to 
theThallmansnow?" 

As  they  moved  forward,  Jean  was  startled  by 
Philip  May's  flashing,  deliberate  gaze  straight  into 


196         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

her  eyes.  It  mastered  her  completely.  She  could 
not  regain  her  old  attitude  of  defiance  toward  him. 
She  tried  to  tell  herself  that  her  womanish  yielding 
to  its  magnetism  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
put  out  his  hand  to  save  her  head  from  a  possibly 
ugly  blow. 

"  I  should  have  gone  back  and  thanked  him 
after  Paul  told  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  hours 
afterward,  when  alone.  "  Now  it  is  awkward.  And 
then  we're  not  on  speaking  terms.  Besides,  he 
would  have  done  it  for  any  one  else.  Yes,  but 
that  doesn't  alter  the  fact  that  he  did  it  for  me. 
It's  stupid  and  gauche  not  to  acknowledge  it.  I 
must.  I  will.  Still,  perhaps  there's  no  neces 
sity — he  doesn't  know  that  I  know.  But  I  do 
know.  Oh,  dear,  I  hate  to  be  in  his  debt,  and  a 
mere  6  thank  you '  would  have — .  I — I  could  write 
him  a  note." 

She  hid  her  eyes,  trembling  at  the  thought  of 
putting  herself  in  communication  with  him,  not 
realizing  the  longing  at  the  bottom  of  her  reluc 
tance. 

"  One  can  be  as  short  and  formal  as  one  wishes 
in  a  note,"  she  assured  herself,  and  seated  herself 
before  her  desk.  She  began  at  once : 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         197 

DR.  PHILIP  MAY, 
DEAR  SIR, — 

"  That's  ridiculous,"  she  said,  bluntly,  with 
flushed  cheeks  and  stern  brows.  "What  then? 
Dear  Dr.  May?  That  need  not  mean  that  he  is 
'dear'  to  me — not  at  all.  It  is  only  the  usual 
impersonal  address  to  an  acquaintance." 

She  began  again  : 

DEAR  DR.  MAY, 

I  did  not  know  until  later  that  you  had  saved  me 
from  what  might  have  proven  a  serious  accident.  I 
wish  to  thank  you  for  it  now. 

Yours  truly, 

Thursday.  JEAN  WILLARD. 

"  Nasty  little  thing,"  she  apostrophized,  read 
ing  it  over,  and  her  eyes  filled.  Nevertheless  she 
sent  it. 

He  received  it  the  following  day  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  his  office.  He  smiled  gently  over 
its  simplicity. 

"  Poor  little  girl,  she  thought  she  had  to — and 
it  was  a  wrench,"  he  reflected,  appreciating  to  the 
full  the  girlish  dignity  of  the  few  cold  phrases. 
"  Not  a  superfluous  word.  Shall  I  answer  it?  Cer 
tainly." 

But  it  was  not  so  easy  a  matter  as  he  supposed. 
An  honest  answer  would  have  proven  a  virtual 


198         HEIKS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

avowal  of  love — a  mad,  grotesque  proceeding 
which  only  flashed  through  his  brain.  To  answer 
her  in  her  own  spirit  was  impossible.  He  chose 
a  non-committal  mean,  and  wrote : 

DEAR  Miss  WILLABD, 

Your    thanks  were  unnecessary.    I  merely  put  up 
my  hand.    It  is  always  ready  to  do  you  a  service. 

Yours  truly, 

Friday.  PHILIP  MAY. 

Jean  read  it  in  dreary  hopelessness.    And  the 
long  autumn  days  went  by. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Two  days  of  rain  at  the  end  of  January  had  less 
ened  the  community's  fears  of  the  dreaded  drought 
— and  kept  Joseph  May  a  house-prisoner. 

"  If  it  clears  off  this  afternoon,  Fll  go  me  a  little 
to  the  club,"  he  said  to  his  son  the  morning  of  the 
third  day,  as  the  latter  stood  drawing  on  his  gloves 
in  the  hall. 

Philip  opened  the  door  and  glanced  up  at  the 
gray,  fleeing  clouds.  "  The  wind  is  veering,"  he 
said.  "  But  if  it  stays  dry  till  noon  you  might 
bundle  up  and  go  down  for  a  while.  I  suppose  Mr. 
Willard  will  go  with  you." 

"  Daniel?  He  goes  a  little  to  the  French  Club, 
but  he's  got  no  use  for  any  club  much — he  don't 
play  cards." 

Dr.  May's  eyes,  traveling  over  his  horses'  sleek 
backs,  smiled  innumerable  things.  "  Well,"  he  said, 
briskly,  and  ran  down  the  steps  to  his  carriage. 

Joseph  watched  till  he  had  stooped  to  the  small 
door  which  he  closed  upon  himself,  till  he  had 
waved  to  him  from  the  window,  and  the  horses 
199 


200         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

started  off.  Then,  all  unknown  to  himself,  he 
smiled  reassuringly  over  the  vanishing  vision  and 
the  memory  of  the  quiet,  capable  face. 

He  felt  an  old-time  impulse  of  good-fellowship 
toward  the  world  this  morning.  The  world,  after 
all,  was  not  so  merciless  as  he  had  thought — it  had 
proven  itself  rather  generous  toward  Philip.  Gen 
erous?  Thought  of  Philip  laughed  in  the  word's 
face.  What  did  he  need  of  its  generosity?  Simply 
by  ignoring  it  and  moving  straight  on  had  he  not 
put  his  foot  on  its  low-brought  neck?  Joseph 
rejoiced  in  the  man's  complete  triumph  this  morn 
ing,  as  a  god  might  rejoice  in  the  strength  of  his 
creature's  limbs. 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  mightily,  look 
ing  out  of  the  sitting-room  window.  "  Yes,  I  think 
I'll  go  me  a  little  to  the  club  this  afternoon,"  he 
decided,  condescendingly. 

He  had  not  been  to  his  club  since  almost  a  year 
— how  long  was  it  anyhow?  Since — he  put  the 
date  and  its  contingent  memory  from  him.  A 
patch  of  blue  peeped  mischievously  out  at  him 
from  the  gray  sky  like  a  child's  eye  at  peep-bo.  He 
shook  his  finger  at  it,  and  then  laughed  over  his 
own  nonsense. 

Jean  came  down  the  steps  of  the  house  next 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         201 

door  and,  seeing  him,  threw  him  a  kiss,  talking 
pantomime  with  him  about  her  umbrella  and  the 
sky.  He  shrugged,  and  spread  his  "palms  broadly 
over  his  ignorance  of  the  weather-man's  purposes, 
and  as  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  threw 
her  a  kiss  in  turn.  Dear  chile!  He  had  not  been 
very  nice  to  Jean,  he  admitted,  and  he  could  afford 
to  throw  her  a  kiss.  He  was  minded  to  open  the 
window  and  command  her  to  deliver  the  caress 
sealed.  How  long  was  it  since  he  had  kissed  Jean? 
Since — but  Jean  had  disappeared  around  the 
corner. 

"  She  goes  like  the  wind,"  he  thought,  admiring 
her  fleetness  with  proudly  pursed-up  lips. 

A  moment  later  Daniel  came  out  and  shook  his 
stick  at  him.  Joseph  opened  the  window. 

"  It  smells  good,  the  air.  You  think  the  rain  is 
over,  Daniel?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  weather-man  says  no,"  returned  Daniel, 
doubtfully,  buttoning  his  overcoat. 

"  Then  sure  it  is  over,"  laughed  Joseph.  "His 
word  is  almost  so  good  as  carrying  an  umbrella 
when  it  looks  like  rain — it  keeps  it  off.  The  poor 
weather-man,  with  this  uberzwerich  climate!  Say, 
Daniel,  the  farmers  ought  to  hire  him  to  say  no 


202         HEIKS    OF    YESTERDAY 

when  they  want  it  and  yes  when  they  don't.  It 
would  be  most  so  good  as  praying." 

Daniel  had  not  seen  him  so  jovial  in  a  year.  He 
felt  a  glow  of  curiosity  as  to  the  cause. 

"Has  Philip  gone?"  he  asked,  gropingly. 

"  When  he  is  gone!  Never  you  saw  a  man  what 
takes  so  little  rest.  Last  night  he  was  called  up  at 
two  o'clock.  You  know  Steinman  is  so  sick 
they—" 

"  Steinman?    Which  Steinman?  " 

"What  Steinman!  Why,  Arnhold  Steinman, 
the  banker.  He's  got  appendicitis,  and  the  doc 
tors  called  Philip  quick  to  operate  on  him." 

He  spoke  with  careless  importance.  Back  of 
his  simple  announcement  lay  a  world  of  late-won 
victory;  at  last  the  influential  Jews  had  been 
forced  to  acknowledge  Philip's  supremacy.  What 
had  he,  Joseph,  cared  for  the  others?  It  was  his 
own,  the  people  of  his  race,  the  people  of  a  past  and 
present  common  with  his  own,  whose  cool  ignoring 
of  the  man  had  been  like  a  nail  in  the  father's 
heart. 

"  Is  he  going  to  die?  "  asked  Daniel,  with  radi 
ant  inconsistency. 

"You  ask  me  that  when  I  tell  you  he's  got 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         203 

Philip  for  a  doctor?  "  said  the  old  man,  softly, 
with  a  quietly  raised  eyebrow  and  shoulder. 

Daniel  laughed,  putting  down  his  foot  to  the 
next  step.  "I  don't  think  I  shall  see  you  again 
to-day/'  he  reflected.  "  After  I  finish  at  the  office 
it  will  be  time  for  luncheon,  and  after  luncheon 
there  is  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  French 
library,  and  to-night — " 

"Well,  I  guess  I  got  to  live  without  you  for 
one  day.  Anyway,  I  think  I'll  go  me  a  little  to  the 
club." 

"  Yes?  "  cried  Daniel,  gladly,  his  curly  upraised 
eyebrow  shooting  off  his  eyeglass.  "  It  is  long — 
I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  game.  Give  my 
love  to  any  of  the  old  ones  you  see  there.  Good 
by,  Joseph.  You  had  better  shut  that  window." 

"  Good  by,  Daniel.  Better  you  turn  up  your 
coat-collar." 

The  window  was  closed.  The  morning  wore 
itself  away,  interrupted  by  three  conversations  over 
the  telephone — two  with  Daniel,  and  a  short  col 
loquy  with  his  attorney,  Paul  Stein.  After  lunch 
eon,  telling  Katie  he  would  take  "  a  little  snooze," 
he  lay  down  on  the  couch  in  the  sitting-room  with 
the  newspaper  over  his  face. 


204         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

It  was  half-past  three,  when,  refreshed  from  his 
sleep,  he  walked  down  in  the  after-rain  sweetness, 
and  took  the  car  for  his  club. 

He  knew  he  would  find  several  of  the  surviving 
"  old  ones  "  there.  With  Kantian  precision,  every 
afternoon  at  that  hour  old  Alexander,  and  Houss- 
man,  and  Frank,  and  Goldschmitt,  formerly  joined 
now  and  then  by  Joseph  May,  found  themselves  in 
a  certain  corner  of  the  spacious  card-rooms  and 
gave  themselves  up  to  cards  and  reminiscences. 
Their  stories  were  known  by  every  frequenter  of 
the  clubhouse,  and  they,  as  well  as  the  story-tellers, 
were  tenderly  cherished  as  heirlooms  by  the 
younger  generation.  There  was  a  jest  current 
among  the  latter,  as  the  survivals  began  dropping 
off  quietly  and  were  gathered  to  their  respective 
corners  in  the  more  spacious  Home  of  Peace,  that, 
in  the  quiet  of  the  night,  they  would  find  one 
another,  and  over  some  grassy  table  play  their 
"  little  game/'  and  tell  their  "  little  stories." 

As  Joseph  entered  now,  tlie  graybeards  shot 
questioning  glances  at  one  another,  and  stretched 
forth  curious  yet  hearty  hands  toward  him. 

"  Hello,  May.  Wie  geht's?  What's  up?  "  cried 
Alexander,  pushing  a  chair  round  for  him. 

"Me,"  beamed  May,  expansively,  sinking  into 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         205 

a  chair  after  disposing  of  his  hat  and  cane  and 
overcoat.  "  Me — and  the  sun — and  lots." 

"  You  always  had  a  good  nose  for  lots/'  said 
Frank,  facetiously,  his  small,,  keen  eyes  searching 
the  furrowed  face  for  the  tracings  of  his  unpub 
lished  chapter.  "You  remember  the  time  you 
bought  sand-hills  for  a  song  where  Van  Ness  Ave 
nue  stands  now?  We  said  you  were  verriickt.  And 
now  you  have  a  corner  in  lots!" 

"  No,  only  seven,"  returned  Joseph,  lighting  a 
cigar.  "  And  one  is  just  round  the  block  from 
yours,  Frank,  in  what  my  son  calls — what  you 
think  he  calls  it?" 

He  had  spoken  the  name  of  his  Ineffable  with 
deliberate  purpose. 

"What  he  calls  it?"  asked  Alexander,  with  a 
grin.  These  old  inheritors  of  a  religion  without  a 
hereafter  could,  nevertheless,  enjoy  a  joke  upon 
this,  their  so  imminent  sojourning. 

"  He  calls  it  '  The  Common,'  "  replied  Joseph. 
It  was  not  quite  what  Alexander  had  expected ;  in 
truth  he  did  not  quite  understand. 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  common  way,"  interrupted  Gold- 
schmitt,  who,  through  a  misadventure  in  his  pio 
neering  days,  had  learned  his  English  more  thor 
oughly  than  his  companions,  and  kept  himself  up 


206         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

to  date.  "  Too  common.  What  will  he  and  the 
other  swells  do  when  they  get  there — hey?  "  The 
comment  smacked  of  maliciousness. 

"  They'll  be  dead  swells  then  and  can't  kick," 
laughed  Houssman,  shaking  over  his  own  wit. 
"  But  tell  us,  May,  how  Steinman  is  to-day?  " 

Then  they  knew! 

"  Oh,  my  son  says  there  is  no  danger  now,"  said 
Joseph,  with  superb  carelessness.  "  He  fixed 
him." 

How?  What?  Steinman?  Dr.  May?  There 
was  agitation  among  the  beards. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Houssman?  " 

Houssman  looked  at  them  with  disgust.  "  You 
didn't  know  Banker  Steinman  was  so  sick  they 
gave  him  up  last  night — till  they  thought  of  Dr. 
May?  And  you  hear — his  father  says  he  fixed 
him/' 

A  celebrity  sat  among  them — Joseph,  father  of 
Philip.  Every  Jew  kneels  to  the  god  Success— 
the  old  ones  knelt  to  the  reflected  glory.  Joseph 
was  again  one  of  them. 

Cards  were  dealt,  the  game  began.  Cigars  were 
smoked,  but  Joseph  wished  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  singing  under  his  breath  like  Frank — it 
would  have  been  such  a  vent.  Instead,  he  played 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY         207 

like  a  magnate,  throwing  money  away  with  lavish 
unconcern.  It  had  been  his  wont  to  play  as  he 
had  worked,  earnestly,  silently,  and  the  others 
watched  him  now  somewhat  uneasily. 

"  You  play  like  a  fool,  May/'  protested  Alexan 
der,  finally,  his  sense  of  economy  exasperated. 

May  laughed.  "  I  got  a  license  to  play  like  I 
want,  so  long  I  don't  cheat,"  he  said. 

The  word  sent  Houssman  back  to  other  days. 
"  You  remember  in  the  old  days  when  you  and  me 
was  partners  down  in  Mississippi,  and  how  we 
slept  one  whole  night  in  the  swamp  because  the 
sheriff  found  out  I  didn't  had  no  license?"  he 
asked,  with  raised  chin. 

"Well,  we  were  fools — afraid  from  our  own 
shadows.  Didn't  I  had  a 'license,  and  wasn't  you 
my  partner?  " 

"  But  say,  May,  what  a  night!  Do  you  like  to 
think  about  it  now?  " 

"It's  a  wonder  we  didn't  die  from  malaria," 
returned  the  doctor's  father.  "You  remember  when 
they  caught  me  they  said  I  stole  the  horse,  but 
wasn't  it  the  judge's  daughter  what  told  me  to 
take  her  horse  and  run,  and  tie  it  to  the  tree  on 
the  bank  before  I  went  into  the  swamp?  You  said 
she  did  it  account  the  bargain  she  made  with  that 


208         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

blue-striped  taffeta,  but  I  knowed  it  was  account 
my  good  looks." 

They  laughed  over  the  old  boy's  conceit,  hitch 
ing  their  chairs  closer  together,  their  beards  com 
mingling  in  a  maze  of  teeming  recollection — sons 
of  toil,  enjoying  the  fruit  of  their  labors — toil  past. 

"  I  could  sit  forever  talking  it  over,"  sighed 
Frank  at  last,  looking  at  his  watch.  "  But,  junge, 
you  know  what  time  it  is?  Ten  minutes  past  six." 

"  Gott  im  himmel"  cried  Goldschmitt,  bustling 
up.  "  My  wife  will  think  I  was  kidnapped.  Come 
along,  boys." 

But  Houssman  had  another  card  up  his  sleeve, 
and  before  they  toddled  to  the  door  he  flung  it 
down  before  Joseph. 

"I  hear  your  son  is  going  to  join  the  club, 
May,"  he  said,  buttoning  up  his  overcoat,  while 
Joseph  did  the  same. 

"You  said?"  questioned  the  other,  the  blood 
rushing  thickly  to  his  face. 

"  I  see  your  son's  name  is  up  for  membership, 
now  two  weeks.  They  vote  to-night,  you  know. 
Dr.  Philip  May.  That's  him,  ain't  it?  " 

"Yah,"  said  Joseph,  a  film  over  his  eyes  and 
voice. 

"  I  hope  he  gets  in,"  said  Houssman,  tendering 
his  hand. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         209 

"  I  hope  he  gets  in,"  said  Alexander,  tendering 
his. 

"  I  hope  he  gets  in/'  said  Frank,  with  a  slap  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  I  hope  he  gets  in/'  cried  Goldschmitt  from 
the  door. 

Joseph's  cup  was  full  and  threatened  to  brim 
over  through  his  eyes.  He  wanted  a  quiet  place 
in  which  to  sing,  or  cry,  perhaps  even  to  pray  a 
little. 

Fortunately  joy  does  not  kill.  When  he  found 
himself  alone,  walking  unconsciously  toward  home, 
his  heart  was  heating  dangerously  high.  So!  He 
had  done  it  quietly  to  surprise  him!  And  some 
night  he  would  say,  "  Old  man," — they  had  grown 
intimate  enough  even  for  that  endearment,  he 
thought — "old  man,  shall  we  go  to  the  club  to 
gether?  You  know  I  am  a  member  now."  Steal 
a  march  on  the  old  man,  eh,  steal  a  march  on  his 
old  father! 

And  it  was  a  good  move — a  shrewd  move  to  get 
in  with  those  moneyed  men.  Not  that  he  needed 
them,  oh,  no.  But — well,  he  was  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  .  .  .  .  . 

What!  already  at  Clay  Street?  How  had  he  got 
there?  Verily,  Joseph,  by  thine  own  peculiar  little 


210         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

knock-kneed  old  Jew's  trot  and  the  aid  of  thy  fine 
gold-topped  cane,  and  by  no  miracle  of  wings  what 
soever.  At  Clay  Street,  then,  and  yonder  in  the 
evening  light  the  row  of  smug-faced  houses  which 
he  called  his — one  of  the  finest  residence  corners 
in  the  city — and  what  a  city!  What  a  picture! 
What  a  place  to  live  in — what  a  view — what  a  cor 
ner  for  a  doctor!  Worth —  Oh,  down  with  the 
smug-faced  houses,  and  behold  the  lordly  mansion 
in  the  midst  of  billowy  lawns.  There,  in  the  door 
way,  who  is  the  girl  who  throws  him  a  kiss?  He 
has  seen  that  girl  before,  caught  such  kisses  before. 
Why  not? — since  Philip  had  joined  the  club.  And 
had  he  not  watched  a  certain  quiet  face  in  the 
evenings  while  Jean  played?  Ah,  Philip,  my  son! 
And  it  would  be,  "  Good  morning,  Grandfather 
Joseph;  did  you  sleep  well  last  night?" 

And,  "  Good  morning — "  Alas,  poor  Daniel, 
never  to  know  the  joy  of  grandfatherhood.  Well, 
well,  it  would  be  almost  the  same,  not  quite,  of 
course,  but  almost. 

And  no  doubt  that  old  scheme  of  showing  "a 
fine  public  spirit,"  which  he  had  evidenced  in  that 
crazy  will  which  Paul  Stein  was  going  to  change 
in  the  morning — no  doubt  it  was  very  grand, 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         211 

Daniel,  my  friend,  but  was  it — human?  Alas  again, 
could  Daniel  put  himself  in  a  father's  place?  Could 
a  bachelor  judge  ?  Well,  it  was  all  right  now. 

And  Philip  would  find  how  much  better  it  was 
to  stand  in  with  your  own  people — people  who 
cared  for  you,  just  like  the  members  of  one  great 
family,  the  big  ones  for  the  little  ones,  the  young 
ones  for  the — oh,  it  was  going  to  be  all  right, 
all  right,  all — 

"  Well,  you  are  late,"  cried  a  voice  above  him, 
and  Joseph  looked  up  to  find  himself  at  his  own 
doorstep,  Philip  standing  bareheaded  in  the  door 
way.  "  I  was  beginning  to  think  of  sending  scouts 
out  to  find  you." 

"  No  danger  I  get  lost,"  laughed  Joseph,  pant 
ing  up  the  steps,  his  eyes  on  the  somewhat  care 
worn  face  above  him.  "  A  bad  penny,  you  know. 
I  had  so  good  a  time  I  forgot  to  come  home.  Was 
you  waiting  for  me?"  He  stammered  as  a  girl 
might,  while  putting  his  cane  in  the  stand. 

"I'm  hungry,"  returned  Philip,  helping  him 
out  of  his  overcoat.  "  And  you  seem  rather  fagged." 

"  Me?  No,"  derided  Joseph;  "  what  shall  I  be 
tired  about?  Wait,  I'll  go  in  and  wash  my  hands 
a  little  before  dinner." 


212         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

'''  You're  all  right,"  commented  Philip,  noting 
the  excited  light  in  the  old  man's  eyes.  "  Come  in 
—Katie  and  her  dinner  are  about  boiling  over." 

It  was  an  uncommonly  good  dinner,  Joseph  de 
cided,  especially  as  to  the  wing  of  chicken  Philip 
carved  for  him — and  Katie  was  a  good  cook  and  a 
good  girl,  and  to-morrow  Stein  would  fix  her  all 
right. 

"  Why  not  lie  on  the  couch  a  while?  "  suggested 
Philip,  when  they  had  repaired  to  the  sitting-room. 

"No;  I  must  read  the  paper/'  said  Joseph, 
plumping  himself  into  the  easy-chair  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  massive  library  table,  and,  setting  his 
eyeglasses  on  his  nose,  he  drew  the  evening  paper 
toward  him  with  a  lazy  grunt  of  satisfaction.  "  Bet 
ter  you  lay  down,  Philip,"  he  added,  glancing  be 
nignly  at  him  over  his  spectacles.  "  I  bet  you  didn't 
sleep  more  as  two  hours  last  night." 

"  Something  like  that,"  assented  Philip,  with 
a  laugh,  as  he  seated  himself  at  the  other  end  and 
drew  the  writing  materials  toward  him.  "  I  don't 
require  much  sleep,  you  know.  Eead  your  paper 
now;  I  have  an  article  to  finish." 


CHAPTER  XII 

For  some  little  while  there  was  nothing  heard 
in  the  room  save  the  continuous  scratch  of  the 
doctor's  pen  and  the  occasional  crackling  of  the 
newspaper  as  Joseph  turned  the  page.  Then,  as 
was  expected,  awaited,  longed  for  hy  one  of  them, 
the  music  stealing  through  the  friendly  dividing- 
walls. 

"  Jean  sings  to-night,"  remarked  Joseph  softly, 
scarcely  looking  up. 

His  voice  startled  his  companion.  "  I  have  never 
heard  her  sing  before,"  he  returned,  without  glan 
cing  up,  and  then  cleared  his  throat  as  though  it 
had  been  rasped  by  something  physical. 

"It  is  some  of  those  old  French  songs  what 
Daniel  likes  so  much  to  hear,"  explained  Joseph, 
his  luminous  eyes  seeking  his  paper  again  as  though 
caught  poaching. 

There  were  only  two  in  her  repertoire,  but  Jean 
sang  verse  after  verse,  never  omitting  the  refrain 
of  "  Lisette's  "  so  proud,  so  sad  regret  for  the  day's 

lost  joy: 

2X3 


214         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Si  vous  saviez,  enfants, 
Quand  j  '  etais  jeune  fille, 
Comme  j  '  etais  gentille  — 
Je  parle  de  longtemps  — 
Teint  frais,  regard  qui  brille, 
Sourire  aux  blanches  dents, 
Alors,  6  mes  enfants, 
Alors,  6  mes  enfants, 
Grisette  de  quinze  ans, 
Ah!  que  j'etais  gentille." 

The  pen  snailed  across  the  paper.  Almost,  one 
might  say,  it  kept  time  to  the  throb  of  smiling, 
coquettish  tears  beneath  the  quaint  old  ballad. 
And  then  came  "  Madame  la  Marquise,"  beginning 
and  ending  with  a  bravura.  They  could  hear  the 
faint  clapping  of  Daniel's  hands,  and  immediately 
after,  the  sound  of  the  sweet,  sonorous  voice  of  the 
piano. 

Philip  laid  down  his  pen — picked  up  a  book. 
It  was  his  hour  of  exquisite  torture.  The  girl  and 
her  music  had,  in  truth,  become  his  conscience, 
seeking  through  his  coats  of  vanity  down  to  the 
hidden  depths  of  the  man,  finding  within  him 
strange,  potential  heroisms,  mute  eloquences,  mad, 
irresistible  desires,  which,  changing  with  the 
changing  soul  of  the  music,  made  him,  as  in  mock 
ery,  now  her  knight  and  hero,  now  a  suppliant 
poet,  now  her  compelling  lover.  Her  music  had 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         215 

thrown  down  the  gates  between  them — had  as 
sumed  a  face  and  form — her  face  and  form,  and 
she  came  to  meet  him  thus,  a  Child  of  the  Book, 
with  the  dream  of  the  Book  in  her  eyes,  and  though 
he  could  not  know  that  through  his  own  distorted 
dream  he  had  helped  to  the  distorting  of  hers,  he 
knew  that  now  and  forevermore  he  must  read  life 
and  himself  through  her  beautiful,  denouncing 
eyes.  He  was  still  analyst  enough,  however,  to 
know  that  the  beauty  of  those  eyes  added  fuel  to 
the  flame  of  her  scorching  scoring,  satirist  enough 
to  say  to  himself,  with  grim  humor,  "  For  punish 
ment,  thou  shalt  love,  without  hope,  this  scorning 
Jewish  maiden  whom  once  thou  scornedst."  In  a 
world  of  artificiality  and  servile  flunkyism,  she 
alone,  through  the  echo  of  her  girlish,  impetuous, 
"  Egoist,  coward,  snob,"  seemed  the  one  real — and 
unattainable — thing  to  him.  Translating  now  her 
estimate  of  him  and  his  blind  dream  of  individual 
ism  into  the  vernacular,  he  called  himself  "  a  dam 
fool!  "  and  when  a  man  arrives  at  that  stage  of 
self-realization,  he  may  be  accounted  on  a  fair  road 
to  recovery.  The  words  wrenched  wide  the  arms 
of  his  love.  Often  if  he  could  have  stopped  the 
music  with  a  blow  he  would  have  done  so — and 
regretted  it  the  moment  after.  But  the  words  sang 


216         HEIKS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

on  in  his  memory  and  stooped  his  soul  in  reply. 
The  valuation  of  this  firebrand  of  an  inexperienced 
girl  hung  like  a  price-mark  upon  him,  and  the 
price  was  bitterly  low.  And  still,  to-night,  as  night 
after  night,  he  found  himself  engaged  in  this 
dumb,  unheard,  futile  wooing,  which,  as  the  music 
ceased,  left  him  looking  into  space  with  blank, 
haggard  eyes. 

Gradually  the  mists  cleared  and  he  realized  that 
he  was  gazing  at  his  father's  face. 

Joseph  was  reading,  his  cigar  in  the  corner  of 
his  mouth.  Philip's  book  lay  open  before  him,  his 
hand  supported  his  head — a  trick  of  habit.  His 
eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  absorbed  face  opposite. 
It  seemed  as  though  for  the  first  time  he  saw  it — 
knew  it — the  leathery  skin,  the  protruding,  bony, 
wrinkled  brow,  the  long,  thick  nose,  the  straight, 
thin  lips.  His  gaze  fell  from  the  grizzled  beard 
to  the  heavily  veined  brown  hands  holding  the 
newspaper — sped  again  to  the  quiet  face  above. 
Mute  testimony  of  a  life — the  handwriting  on  the 
wall!  Between  the  lines  his  history  lay  revealed — 
and  Philip  read.  Time  and  space  slipped  away, 
the  struggle,  the  yearning,  the  broken  pitchers  re 
mained.  By  a  strange  fantasy  he  seemed  to  see 
the  figure  of  a  man  moving  alone  upon  an  endless, 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         217 

lonely  road — put  there,  how?  Back  of  him  lay 
the  years,  the  centuries,  stretching  gigantic  arms 
outward,  beyond  the  man,  beyond  the  horizon, 
beyond  all  space,  beyond  all  time.  The  road  of 
Infinity  lay  between.  And  the  man?  Galley-slave 
of  the  Past,  lugging  forever  the  memory  of  a 
Chain — sport  of  the  ages,  auto-da-fes,  and  yellow 
patch,  hate,  and  prejudice,  and  jealous  venom, 
plundered,  reviled,  stoned,  and  spat  upon — heir 
of  all  the  ages — unconquerable  still — yearning  ever 
toward  the  wide  peace  of  promise!  Heart-bound, 
the  threads  spread  out,  caught  at  the  gazer, 
clutched  him  close. 

"  I  am  his — he  is  mine/'  said  his  soul.  "  Amen." 

With  an  effort  toward  actuality,  he  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  he  said  hurriedly,  his  hand 
falling  upon  his  father's  shoulder.  "  I  have  an 
operation  at  St.  Luke's — and  you  are  going  to  bed 
now." 

Joseph  looked  up,  taking  off  his  spectacles. 
"  Yes,"  he  decided,  slowly,  shoving  the  glasses  into 
their  case.  "Perhaps  I'm  a  little  tired.  What 
time  is  it?" 

"  Just  nine.  Are  you  going  now?  "  Joseph  was 
following  him. 


218         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  I'll  go  with  you  to  the  door.  You  say  it  is 
an  important  case?  What  is  it,  Philip?  " 

The  doctor  shrugged  himself  into  his  overcoat, 
the  old  man  standing  by  the  newel-post,  watching 
him.  Philip  smiled  down  at  him,  giving  him  cer 
tain  details  which  brought  a  look  of  wisdom  into 
his  father's  face. 

<:  Oh,  it's  only  an  experiment,"  Philip  con 
cluded,  feeling  in  his  pockets  for  his  gloves.  "  My 
old  friends,  the  authorities  in  Europe,  have  been 
discussing  its  practicability  for  the  past  ten  years. 
I'm  only  going  to  put  some  of  their  theories  into 
practice — risking  one  life  for  many — but  I  have 
strong  hopes.  Ah,  here  they  are."  He  began  draw 
ing  on  his  gloves,  waiting  for  the  further  question 
fumbling  for  exit  in  his  father's  agitated  counte 
nance.  "Well,  good  night."  He  picked  up  his 
hat  as  a  spur. 

"  Oh — hold  on,  Philip.  You  know  I  was  to  the 
club  to-day." 

"  Yes,  so  our  late  dinner  proved." 

"  And — and  I  heard  some  news — good  news." 

Philip  felt  his  pulse  give  a  leap  of  premonition, 
and  then  lie  cold.  For  no  definable  reason  but  for 
dread  of  it,  and  the  natural  possibility  of  it,  he 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         219 

daily  awaited  the  announcement  of  Jean  Willard's 
engagement. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  impassively. 

"Yes.  That  was  a  good  idea — waiting  till  I 
couldn't  go  down  and  find  out,  but  you  can't  hide 
it  from  me  no  more — Houssman  told  me  your 
name  is  on  the  board — for  membership." 

His  son  turned  upon  him  more  directly,  blank 
surprise  written  in  his  eyes.  This  suddenly  passed, 
leaving  a  heavy  frown. 

"  There  is  some  mistake,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  I 
have  never  given  any  one  such  a  right — never 
spoken  to  any  one  of  such  a  desire.  I  know  no  one 
belonging  to  your  club — intimately."  The  arro 
gant,  masterful  voice  spoke  again. 

"It  is  no  mistake,"  returned  Joseph,  thickly, 
uncertainly.  "  Houssman  said  it — he  saw  it  plain 
— and  Frank — and — " 

"  Then  it  is  the  horseplay  of  some  practical 
joker,"  broke  in  Philip,  gruffly.  "  One  of  those 
gentlemanly  means  of  getting  even,  I  suppose.  I — 
my  dear  sir — father — why  should  it  trouble 
you?  "  He  caught  the  old  man  by  the  shoulders, 
the  egoist  held  again  in  leash  by  the  look  of  agony 
quivering  over  the  blanched  features — conscious 


220         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

now,  with  all  Jean  Willard's  conscience,  of  his  lack 
of  consideration. 

"Me?"  agonized  Joseph,  hoarsely,  lifting  his 
head  in  pride.  "Me?  You  think  that  troubles 
me?  They  can  go  to  hell,  the  whole  dam  lot  of 
?em,  for  all  I  care!  Dam  'em,  Philip,  dam  'em!  " 

Philip's  hand  still  pressed  upon  the  trembling 
shoulders,  his  calm  eyes  gradually  cooling  the 
blazing  ones  beneath  his. 

"  It  really  isn't  worth  speaking  about,"  he  said, 
lightly,  at  last.  "  But  I'm  glad  you  heard  about  it; 
to-morrow  morning  I  can  set  them  right  with  a 
note.  I  heard  Katie  go  out,  I  think.  Come,  let 
me  see  you  to  your  room." 

"Nonsense.  Good  night,  Philip;  I'm  all  right 
— you  go  to  your  work."  His  voice  dragged.  He 
tried  to  move  from  the  detaining  hold.  He  seemed 
suddenly  little  and  weak.  Philip  lifted  him  sum 
marily  and  carried  him  upstairs.  It  was  the  work 
of  but  a  few  quick  minutes  to  get  him  tucked 
between  the  sheets. 

For  a  few  seconds  after  the  front  door  closed 
behind  him,  a  great  stillness  lay  upon  the  house. 
Then  Joseph  May,  huddled  in  his  dressing-gown, 
shuffling  in  his  slippers,  made  his  stumbling  way 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         221 

down  the  stairs  up  which  the  adored  strong  arms 
had  but  just  carried  him. 

Huddling,  shuffling,,  groping,  he  reached  the 
foot  at  last,  and  raised  his  head  for  breath.  To 
morrow  morning!  God  in  heaven,  what  was  going 
to  happen  to-morrow  morning?  But  the  meeting 
— the  meeting  took  place  to-night — and  the  tele 
phone  miles  away  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  Mak 
ing  fun  of  them,  eh?  Making  fun  of  both  of  them. 
"  I  hope  he  gets  in,"  chuckles  Houssman.  "I  hope 
he  gets  in,"  grins  Frank.  "  I—"  God,  God,  all  of 
them  laughing  at  him — he  could  hear  them  now — 
and  surely  the  telephone  used  to  be  nearer  the  din 
ing-room  door.  Ah! 

He  took  down  the  receiver;  the  connection 
was  made. 

"  Hello,"  went  the  strange,  hoarse  voice  over 
the  wire.  "  Is  Altschul  there?  " 

"  Who?   I  don't  understand  you.75 

"  Altschul— the  president— Altschul." 

"Got  a  bad  cold,  eh?    Spell  it." 

«  A-1-t-s-c-h- 

"Oh,  Altschul.  Yes.  Want  him?  Wait  a 
minute." 

"Hello.    Who  is  this?" 

"May.    Joseph  May.    Is  that  Altschul?" 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

"  Yes.     Whom  am  I  talking  to?  " 

"  May.    Joseph  May." 

"  Oh — ah — yes.  Your  voice  is  somewhat  husky, 
May.  How  goes  it?  " 

"  I  want  you — I  want  to  say  there  is  a  mistake 
about  my  son's  name.  He  never  gave  no  one  the 
right  to  put  it  up.  You  understand,  Altschul?  " 

"  But  my  dear  sir — " 

"  I  want  you  to  say  it's  a  damned  low  trick — 
and  I  want  you  to  take  his  name  off.  You  under 
stand,  Altschul?" 

"  But  my  dear  sir — " 

"  I  want  you  to  say  that  Joseph  May  resigns 
from  your  club,  now — to-night.  You  undertsand, 
Altschul?" 

"  But  my  dear  sir,  you,  a  charter  member!  Non 
sense,  May,  nonsense.  Eeconsider  it.  If  that  re- 
gretable  matter  of  Dr.  May's  name — you  know 
it  has  been  on  the  board  for  full  three  weeks — if 
it  had  come  to  light  in  time — " 

"Then— the — the  meeting  is  over?" 

"  I  regret  exceedingly,  but — " 

«  Then— he— is— " 

"  A  little  louder,  May.  What?  I  can't  under 
stand  you.  You  know  it  takes  only  two  balls,  and 
— but  we  shall  sift  this  to  the  bottom.  Say,  May, 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         223 

come  down  and  have  a  little  game,  won't  you?  It's 
a  fine  night.  Say,  May?  " 

He  received  no  answer. 

"We've  been  disconnected/'  murmured  Alt- 
schuL,  turning  from  the  telephone  room  with 
threatening  gaze. 

It  was  a  fine  night,  warm,  soft,  balmy,  with 
overhead  a  cloudless,  starry  sky.  Shortly  before 
midnight,  as  Dr.  May  came  out  of  St.  Luke's  Hos 
pital,  two  of  his  colleagues  close  upon  his  heels, 
it  occurred  to  him  that,  in  all  his  experience,  he 
could  recollect  none  finer.  At  the  corner  of  Valen 
cia  Street,  Dr.  Otis  grasped  his  hand  for  the  third 
time. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "I  wish  I  had  your 
career  to  live.  Or  my  own  over  again — with  just 
that  added  bit  of  power  you  taught  us  to-night." 

Philip  laughed.  He  felt  the  slight  intoxication 
visible  in  the  brilliancy  of  his  eyes,  but  his  voice 
was  quite  steady.  "  It  saves  bungling,"  he  said. 
"  And  I  believe  she's  going  to  stand  it." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  Well,  sir,  I  envy  you."  The 
distinguished  old  physician  made  as  if  to  add  some 
thing  further,  turned  fiery  under  the  lamplight, 
and  took  off  his  hat,  as  he  strode  toward  the  car. 

Philip  strolled  on  with  the  young  interne,  giv- 


224         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

ing  him  an  out-of -class  lesson  in  the  joy  of  his 
success.  At  that  moment  he  would  have  readily 
staked  his  life  on  the  truth  of  the  statement  that 
the  nearest  approach  to  earthly  happiness  is  the 
knowledge  of  perfect  success.  He  felt  his  powers 
strong  within  him,  knew  that  he  could  leap  moun 
tains  of  untold  difficulties. 

His  brain  was  still  busy  with  analogous  compli 
cations  as  he  boarded  his  car,  taking  a  seat  on  the 
side  of  the  dummy  where  he  could  best  enjoy  his 
cigar.  At  the  corner  where  transfers  were  given, 
two  men  stepped  on,  seating  themselves  close  be 
side  the  tall,  silent  figure  in  the  corner.  They 
seemed  to  be  talking  confidentially,  and  Philip, 
absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  took  small  notice 
of  them,  till  just  within  a  block  of  his  stepping-off 
place,  when  he  was  attracted  by  the  mention  of  his 
father's  name. 

"  Don't  tell  me.  I  tell  you  I'm  sorry  for  Joseph 
May;  and  if  you'd  have  heard  his  poor,  shaky  old 
voice  over  the  'phone  two  or  three  hours  ago,  you'd 
fully  understand  this  feeling.  I  hated  to  have  to 
tell  him  that  the  meeting  had  already  taken  place 
and  that  the  black-balling  was  accomplished.  Now, 
the  fellow  who  conceived  the  original  and  brilliant 
idea  of  using  the  club's  roster  as  a  means  of  can- 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         225 

celing  some  real  personal  debt  or  of  perpetuating 
his  vulgar  joke,  is  going  to  suffer  for  this.  Oh,  I 
know  the  man  deserved  some  sort  of  drubbing, 
but  the  club  isn't  a  hall  of  justice — " 

The  tall,  quiet  man  in  the  corner  swung  off, 
and  Altschul  spread  himself  more  comfortably 
while  the  car  spun  on.  Dr.  May's  footsteps  rang 
out  sharply  on  the  pavement  as  he  walked  toward 
his  home. 

He  had  flung  his  cigar  away.  His  face  was 
inscrutable  as  he  put  his  key  in  the  latch. 

He  noticed  that  the  gas  was  still  burning  in 
the  sitting-room  as  he  had  left  it.  Katie  had  not 
come  home  then,  he  supposed,  with  a  passing  sense 
of  surprise,  while  moving  toward  the  room  to  turn 
off  the  light.  Something  far  down  the  hall  near 
the  telephone  caught  his  attention.  He  went 
curiously  toward  it.  He  stooped  over  the  dark, 
huddled  mass — straightened  himself  a  moment 
before  looking  further. 

Then  he  turned  up  his  father's  face.  But  it 
was  cold  in  death. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

"  There  are  prayers — or  something — said  in  the 
evening,  aren't  there  ?  "  Philip  demanded,  laconi 
cally,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  funeral,  when  he 
stood  again  with  Daniel  Willard  in  the  May  dining- 
room.  Recollections  of  old  ceremonies  were  press 
ing  in  upon  him. 

"  It  is  customary — yes.  But  to-night  being  Fri 
day,  there  are  services  in  the  Temple — and  one 
goes  there." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  A  quarter  to  eight  during  the  winter." 

"Shall  I  find  a  seat?" 

"Yes,  yes;  everybody  is  welcome.  Besides, 
there  is  your  father's  seat.  Mine  is  with  his.  I  too 
am  going  down  to-night.  Shall  we  go  together?  "' 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I  am  going  home  now.  Perhaps  you  will  lie 
down  a  little."  He  looked  imploringly  into  the 
stern,  gray  face.  His  own  was  weary  and  tear- 
stained,  but  he  did  not  know  it. 

"  Perhaps,"  returned  Philip,  stifling  argument. 
226 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         227 

Daniel  turned  away.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
gathered  from  the  baffling  wall  of  rigidity  behind 
which  the  man  had  intrenched  himself.  Through 
out  the  day  of  necessary  publicity  and  ceremony, 
standing  cynosure  for  the  crowd  of  curiosity-seek 
ers  and  gossips  among  the  large  host  of  the  dead 
man's  time-proven  friends,  looking  for  the  last 
time  upon  the  features  cowled  in  peace,  beside  the 
narrow  bed  in  which  they  laid  Joseph  May  next 
the  love  of  his  youth,  the  son  had  presented  a 
blankness  of  aspect  as  unreflecting  as  the  sheeted 
mirror  in  the  sitting-room,  symboling  the  vanities 
of  life. 

"  You  are  tired,"  said  Jean,  when  her  uncle 
entered.  She  helped  him  out  of  his  overcoat  and 
pressed  him  to  eat  something. 

"Thank  you.  I  have  no  appetite  for  eating." 
He  spoke  in  distant  courtesy. 

"  Won't  you — aren't  you  going  to  rest  a  while?  " 

He  kept  his  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  door, 
waiting  to  close  it  upon  her.  It  was  a  house 
divided  against  itself.  But  the  situation  had 
become  intolerable  to  Jean,  and  she  suddenly 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  I'm  sorry  for — for  what  I  said  yesterday 
morning,"  she  sobbed  against  his  shoulder.  "  But 


228         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

I  couldn't  stand  near  him  at  the  funeral — as  you 
asked  me — feeling  as  I  do — as  everybody  feels — 
that  if  it  weren't  for  him — directly — or  indirectly 
—Uncle  Joseph  wouldn't  be  where  he  is  now." 

"  At  any  rate/'  said  Daniel  Willard,  coldly, 
"  there  is  no  occasion  for  this  repetition  of  the  re 
mark,  is  there?  I  do  not  like  the  sound  of  it." 

She  drew  from  him  with  drooping  head.  Some 
thing  in  her  heavy  eyes  and  white  face  gave  him  an 
uneasy  start. 

He  put  his  hand  out  to  her.  "  My  dear,  are  you 
well  ?  "  he  asked,  gently. 

She  nodded  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Then  perhaps — what  was  I  going  to  say?  Per 
haps  a  glass  of  wine  would  taste  good  if  you  would 
bring  it  to  me." 

She  threw  him  a  look  of  gratitude  and  hurried 
off  for  the  refreshment. 

But  the  shadow  of  Philip  May  stood  between 
their  usual  confidences,  nor  would  it  let  Daniel 
Willard  take  his  much-needed  rest.  He  was  think 
ing  of  certain  bitter  words  spoken  almost  a  year 
before  under  a  beautiful  February  sky: 

"  And  I  made  a  new  will  according,  Daniel.  A 
fine  will  like  you  talk  so  much  about,  with  Univer 
sities,  and  Hospitals,  and — ich  weiss  viel! — in  it. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         229 

So  well  he  can  go  alone  and  has  no  use  for  his 
father,  so  well  he  has  no  use  for  his  father's  money. 
—I  left  him  a  dollar — that's  the  law,  Stein  says — 
and  he  can  make  Shakos  with  it,  or  put  it  in  a 
crepe  band  on  his  hat — if  it  is  still  the  style  to 
make  believe  you  care.  But  it  will  make  me  noth 
ing  out.  For  me — I  will  be  silent  in  my  grave." 

What  if  the  vindictive  testament  still  existed, 
with  nothing  to  repudiate  its  revengeful  spirit  in 
the  eyes  of  a  keen  world — and  the  conscience  of 
the  disinherited?  If  so,  then,  Joseph,  alas,  not 
silent! 

Jean,  in  her  incomprehensibility,  begged  him 
to  dine  with  Philip  May,  but  it  was  a  silent  meal 
which  he  partook  with  him.  It  was  as  silent  a 
going  forth  to  the  place  of  prayer  afterward. 

As  they  stood  on  the  back  platform  of  the  car, 
approaching  the  dark  pile  of  the  Temple,  Daniel 
noticed  that  the  street  was  filled  with  hurrying 
groups  of  people  who  were  lost  in  the  shadows  of 
the  two  great  flights  of  steps  leading  to  the  arched 
portico.  It  looked  as  though  there  were  going  to 
be  an  unusual  attendance.  As  they  mounted  the 
outer  steps,  Daniel  glanced  at  his  companion's 
face,  questioning  what  effect  this  unexpected 
crowd  might  have  upon  him  in  his  reclusive  mood. 


230         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

But,  quite  oblivious  to  this  feature  of  the  moment, 
Philip  walked  in  after  him  to  their  seats  some 
where  toward  the  middle  of  the  nave. 

A  subdued  light  from  many  bulbs  pervaded  the 
interior.  At  either  side  the  richly  carved  chancel 
glowed  the  great  seven-branched  lamps.  At  the 
farther  end,  above  the  heavy  ruby  velvet  curtains 
concealing  the  ark,  rose  the  gleaming  pipes  of  the 
organ.  The  swing-doors  at  the  back  opened  and 
shut  to  a  constant  flow  of  softly  moving  people; 
stooped,  slow-moving,  long-nosed,  grizzled  Jews 
— those  who  had  paved  the  way;  portly,  important, 
keen-faced  Jews — those  who  had  profited  by  the 
paving;  young,  alert  Jews  of  the  hour — those  who 
were  inheriting; — here  smug  and  self-satisfied, 
there  dignified  by  the  culture,  though  new,  of  a 
far-reaching  cosmopolitanism ; — broad-bosomed, 
middle-aged  Jewesses  in  spiritualizing  griefs  and 
crepe  veils;  graceful,  piquant-faced,  well-dressed 
young  Jewesses,  the  light  of  the  world  in  their 
eyes.  And  not  one  among  all  these  diverse  faces, 
not  omitting  the  most  self-approving,  the  most 
joyous,  or  the  most  empty-souled,  but  bore  evidence 
of  a  racial  potentiality  which  falls  easily  to  the 
line  of  tragedy.  But  the  Jews  formed  only  a 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         231 

minor  proportion  of  the  immense  gathering  this 
evening. 

"  I  see  one  of  the  professors  of  Stanford  in  the 
pulpit/'  murmured  Daniel.  "  I  could  not  under 
stand  the  crush/' 

Philip  received  the  explanation  in  silence. 
There  was  a  numbness  possessing  his  faculties 
which  gave  him  a  sense  of  being  put  passively, 
through  no  desire  of  his  own,  by  some  resurrec- 
tionary  process,  back  into  a  long-deserted  life. 

And  this  was  the  approach:  music  which  was 
prayer,  prayer  which  was  music,  soaring,  sonorous, 
sublime,  whether  through  the  voice  of  the  organ, 
the  marvelous  intoning  of  the  cantor,  or  both 
together  blending  in  vast,  deep  harmonies,  which 
rose  as  out  of  the  immensities  of  the  past,  reaching 
the  climax  in  the  trumpet  glory  of  the  "Shemah" 
the  hope-cry  and  star  of  a  People  through  aeons 
of  misunderstanding,  of  exultation,  and  despair — 
"Hear,  0  Israel,  the  Lord  our  Gfod,  the  Lord  is 
One" — which  they,  having  escaped  from  out  their 
fastnesses,  shall  some  day  change  to,  "  Hear,  0 
Humanity,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord  is  One." 

Presently  the  echoes  were  hushed,  and  soft 
words  of  comfort  were  spoken,  gentle  as  a  loving 


232         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 


touch  on  throbbing  wounds;  the  music  trembled 
a  faint  whisper,  and  the  mourners  arose  in  their 
places,  while  the  "  Kadesh  "—the  glorification  of 
Him  who  gives  and  takes  in  love  and  wisdom — 
was  quietly  chanted  to  them. 

Philip  resumed  his  seat,  mechanically,  as  he 
had  risen,  swayed  by  the  simple,  compelling  serv 
ices.  But  during  the  hour  in  which  the  professor 
of  Stanford  gave  one  of  his  ethically  broad,  yet 
bluntly  sincere,  lectures — this  night  on  the  state 
of  the  Cubans  starving  on  the  country's  borders — 
of  which  he,  Philip,  heard  only  the  murmur,  as 
of  the  rumble  of  a  distant  life — he  seemed  to  be 
listening,  stony,  incapable  of  response,  before  a 
grave,  chiding  Power.  That  some  day  he  might 
grasp  it,  bow  down  before  it,  he  felt  with  impotent 
grimness,  but  to-night,  though  the  mighty  voice  of 
the  music  had  stirred  him  as  a  voice  from  afar, 
it  upbore  before  him  only  the  quiet  old  face  of 
his  father  as  he  had  seen  it  last  in  death.  Stern- 
browed,  tall,  commanding,  he  had  attracted  many 
curious  eyes  when  he  had  risen  among  the  other 
mourners,  but  down  to  the  moment  when,  the 
benediction  said,  the  throng  began  to  move  slowly 
toward  the  exits,  he  had  remained  unconscious  of 
the  public  among  whom  he  sat  or  stood. 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         233 

The  rush  of  buzzing  voices  brought  him  back 
to  his  surroundings.  He  knew  that  Daniel  Wil- 
lard  was  returning  bows  and  salutations  and  that 
he  himself  had  acknowledged  several  such  recogni 
tions.  A  tall,  thin  man,  cutting  his  way  through 
with  extended  arm,  cornered  them  for  a  moment 
near  the  door. 

"Isn't  Jean  here?"  he  demanded,  with  pleas 
ant  abruptness. 

"  No,  she  did  not  come,"  murmured  Daniel. 
"  Did  you  expect  her?  " 

"Well,  not  by  agreement — I  only  supposed 
so.  I  thought  I'd  use  the  occasion  as  a  medium 
for  lending  her  a  book  we  had  been  speaking 
about/' 

"What  brings  you  here,  Paul?  The  pro 
fessor?" 

"  He  might  have,  but  he  didn't.  No,  I  have 
Yahrzeit  for  my  mother — never  miss  coming  if  I 
can  help  it.  Hadn't  we  better  be  moving?  " 

They  found  themselves  in  the  tail  of  the  van 
ishing  crowd.  The  sweet  night  air  struck  their 
faces. 

"Have  you  ever  noticed,"  asked  Paul,  as  they 
approached  the  portico,  "  how,  coming  out  here  at 
night,  these  arches  let  in  the  stars  and  sky  exactly 


234         HEIKS    OF    YESTEKDAY 

as  though  continuing  the  roof-scheme  of  the 
Temple  within?  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  an 
architectural  design  or  divine  accident,  but  it 
actually  makes  us  carry  heaven  with  us  at  least 
a  moment  beyond  the  threshold.  You  ride,  of 
course  ?  " 

"  Well— what  do  you  say,  Philip?  " 

"  Isn't  the  distance  rather  too  great  for  you 
to—" 

"  No;  and  the  walk  will  do  us  both  good.  Well, 
Paul,  why  not  bring  the  book  to  Jean  now?  " 

"  Exactly.  I  decided  to  do  that  when  you  de 
cided  to  walk — if  you  don't  mind  my  company." 

"We  shall  be  glad  of  it,"  said  Philip,  unex 
pectedly,  and  they  veered  around.  There  was  some 
thing  irresistibly  attractive  to  him  in  the  person 
ality  of  this  rough-visaged  son  of  Judah.  The  old 
gentleman  walked  between,  briskly,  intrepidly,  his 
young  companions  thought,  but  in  the  silent  inti 
macy  of  his  own  bones,  he  knew  he  was  very  tired. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  the  lecturer's  flat- 
footed  expressions  of  opinion,  Dr.  May?"  asked 
Paul,  as  they  strode  out  Sutter  Street,  with  long, 
steady  strides. 

Philip  started.  "The  lecture?  I'm  afraid  I 
lost  most  of  it.  I  was  still  absorbed  in  the  echo 


HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY         235 

of  the  services.  But — was  it  Jewish?"  He  felt 
a  sudden  desire  to  set  Paul  Stein  talking — for  di 
version;  he  liked  the  suspicion  of  reserve  strength 
in  his  manner,  the  twinkle  in  the  corner  of  his 
bright  eye. 

"Was  what  Jewish?" 

"All  of  it — the  simple  prayers  with  most  of 
the  Hebrew  omitted — the  superb  organ  music — 
the  non-Jew  in  the  pulpit." 

"  It  was  all  Judaism — robbed  of  provincialisms 
and  anachronisms."  The  words  came  from  Daniel 
Willard.  "Why  do  you  question  it,  Philip?" 

"  It  seemed  heretical — to  the  ancient  idea." 

"  The  ancient  idea  is  the  new  idea.  It  is  long 
since  you  have  been  in  a  synagogue." 

"  Yes." 

"  Not  that  it  would  have  been  told  you  there  in 
so  many  words.  But  the  ancient  idea  of  which, 
you  speak — the  Talmudic  idea — was  that  the  Law 
was  never  to  be  a  sealed  matter — that  it  was  al 
ways  to  remain  open  to  the  interpretation  of  the 
search-light  of  progress." 

"In  other  words,  we  evolve,"  put  in  Paul, 
lightly. 

"  That  is  your  word — mine  is  progress,"  held 
the  gentle  Pharisee.  "  But  perhaps  it  all  means 


236         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

the  same  in  the  end — perhaps  we  all  mean  the 
same  in  the  end.  I  hope  so.  Yet  it  seems 
to  me  I  can  hear  the  silent,  continuous,  unham 
pered  stride  of  the  Jew,  keeping  step  with  Time. 
As  though  he,  the  freeman,  were  moving  on 
to  the  brink  of  the  Universal — the  Messianic 
religion  which  was  meant  by  the  first  and 
shall  be  the  last— though  we  may  then  call  it 
by  another  name.  For,  one  by  one,  the  superstruc 
tures  of  Judaism,  having  fulfilled  their  mission  of 
promulgation,  will  crumble  away — one  by  one,  her 
messengers,  having  fulfilled  their  time  and  office, 
shall  lay  them  down  to  rest  and  pass  into  a  tale 
that  is  told— while  she,  ever  with  her  hand  at  the 
brain  of  Life,  stands  imperturbable,  immortal, 
gazing  down  the  ages.  And  when  the  great 
moment  of  coalition  takes  place,  the  Jew  will  be 
found  in  the  van  and  waiting." 

"In  short,"  said  Paul,  in  the  ensuing  pause, 
"  we  shall  be  to  the  manner  born— the  others  will 
be  the  parvenus." 

"No,  Paul;  I  do  not  like  the  spirit  of  that  re 
mark,"  reproved  Daniel.  "  Youth  is  always  a  little 
vindictive,  it  seems  to  me.  The  eyes  of  age  are 
more  humble — having  seen.  But  I  was  not  always 
old.  Time  was  when  I  too  thought  that  to  be  of 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         237 

the  Chosen  People  was  to  be  of  God's  elect — his 
darling,  a  peculiar  treasure  unto  Him.  But  time 
has  taught  me  the  mockery  of  any  divine  nepotism. 
We  were  elect — through  Abraham — who,  myth  or 
man,  stands  forth  the  great  intermediary,  the 
mouthpiece  between  God  who  is  God — and  Man. 
That  is  all  for  which  we  were  elect — all  for  which 
we  are  '  to  the  manner  born.'  But  since  that 
moment  of  Revelation,  most  men — deny  it  though 
they  may — believe  in  a  Something  which  we  have 
given  them — and  which  we  call  God." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  belief  in  God?  "  asked 
Paul. 

"  The  sense  of  an  existent  Ideality,"  replied 
Daniel,  quietly,  "  an  ideality — a  perfectability — 
whither  the  potentiality,  the  growth  of  man  tends 
— and  which  still,  as  we  advance,  retreats  like  the 
horizon,  beckoning  us  ever  onward.  A  gray 
abstraction  to  some,  perhaps,  but  which  alone 
makes  for  and  marks  our  religion." 

"And,  as  a  race,  what  are  we?"  questioned 
Philip  May. 

"  Let  the  Christians  answer  that." 

The  words  were  Paul's.  An  oppressive  silence 
gigantic  with  Titanic  powers  and  gruesome  mem- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

ories  hung  like  a  weight  upon  their  senses  at  this 
retort  courteous. 

But  Daniel  Willard  interposed.  "No,  Paul 

not  as  a  race;  only — and  that  again  only  in  part — 
as  a  social  figure  among  the  nations.  As  a  race  we 
are  what  our  religion  has  made  us.  There  is  a 
something  in  the  roots  of  every  one  of  us,  a  some 
thing  which  has  got  implacably  mixed  with  our 
blood  and  is  inseparable  from  it,  which  had  made  us 
what  we  are  long  before  oppression  came  near  us. 
We  cannot  separate  ourselves  from  this  ancient 
heredity.  The  Ghettoes  were  only  the  great  store 
houses  in  which  this  racial  germ  was  preserved  and 
forced  to  exotic  intensity.  Our  ethics  are  our 
birthright.  And  whenever  a  Jew  fails  to  be  proud 
of  this  birthright  it  is  through  cowardice,  or  igno 
rance,  or  both.  And  whenever  a  Christian  is  unjust 
to  a  Jew,  it  is  through  cowardice,  or  ignorance,  or 
both.  But  what  I  meant  to  say  was,  that  a  Jew 
can  only  deny  himself  by  word  of  mouth." 

"And  that  generally  gives  him  away,"  added 
Paul,  feeling  that  the  old  gentleman  had  inad 
vertently  approached  delicate  ground,  "  and  then 
all  his  perjury  is  in  vain.  Then — what  atonement 
can  he  make  for  his  folly,  Mr.  Willard?" 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         239 

" '  God  is  regained  in  a  moment  of  repent 
ance/  "  quoted  the  scholar,  quietly. 

"  Not  through  a  death-bed  repentance,  I  hope/' 
laughed  Stein.  "  That  should  be  as  theologically 
impossible  as  we  have  made  death-bed  bequests 
illegal.  In  the  other  world — " 

"  What  is  the  other  world?  "  demanded  Daniel, 
sternly. 

"  The  world  of  the  immortal  soul." 

"  And  what  is  this  immortal  soul  of  which  you 
speak  so  glibly?" 

"  That  which  aspires — here  and  now,  as  the 
mortal  is  that  which  desires — here  and  now."  He 
spoke  rapidly,  delighting  in  the  Socratic  cross- 
questioning  upon  a  subject  for  which  most  think 
ing  Jews  are  generally  ready  with  some  independ 
ent  opinion.  "According  to  which,"  he  added, 
lightly,  "  in  heaven,  as  yet — the  here-and-now 
heaven — the  gathering  is  small  and  select.  Now 
that,  I  grant  you,  is  not  an  idea  borrowed  from 
the  seers  and  prophets,  who  kindly  left  all  specula 
tion  upon  the  future  state  to  our  own  ingenuity — 
and  needs ;  but  it  agrees  with  my  idea  of  a  religion 
which,  robbed  of  its  wrappings,  has  for  its  standard 
of  judgment  only  a  man's  conduct — and  has  noth 
ing  to  do  with  this  or  that  bowing  or  kneeling 


240         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

acquaintance  with  dogmatic  theology.  No,  I'll 
wager  that  what  the  patriarchs  did  give  us,  Mr. 
Willard,  was  not  the  religious  characteristic  at 
all — it  was  rather  one  of  economics.  Why,  even 
in  the  beginning,  they  found  only  one  God  neces 
sary." 

"You  are  pleased  to  jest,  Paul." 

"  No,  mon  Chevalier.  I  only  wished  to  relieve 
the  oppressive  sense  of  diving  in  waters  too  deep. 
I  visited  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum  the  other 
day  and  was  sadly  impressed  by  the  deaf  children 
speaking  of  those  who  can  hear  as  ( the  hearing 
ones,'  as  though  they  possessed  a  royal  gift.  I 
was  beginning  to  fear  I  was  speaking  as  though  I 
thought  my  people  and  myself  the  (  hearing  ones.'  " 

"  You  are,  my  dear  Paul.  And  yet,  for  ail 
your  nonsense,  I  believe  you  to  be  a  good  Jew." 

"  A  Jew  surely — but  a  good  one  ? — save  the 
mark!  I  am  a  composite  of  all  that  I  have 
known — a  child  of  to-day  as  well  as  of  yesterday — 
and,  come  to  think  of  it,  I'm  not  sure  I'm  not — 
under  that  scoring — a  pretty  good  Christian,  as 
well." 

"Why  not?"  returned  Daniel,  quietly. 

Paul  cocked  his  ears.  Philip  was  diverted, 
awaiting  the  next  move. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEBDAY         241 

"  Surely  you  do  not  think  that  a  challenge  to 
me,  Paul.  Surely  you  must  know  that  I  do  not 
forget  that  Christianity  sprang  from  beneath  the 
very  heart  of  the  stern-browed,  eternal  Mother — 
a  beautiful,  graceful  youth — or,  as  John  puts  it, 
'  Moses  made  the  Law,  but  grace  and  truth  came 
by  Jesus  Christ/  Which,  I  take  it,  is  an  admission 
that,  without  Judaism  as  a  basis,  Christianity 
would  be  only  a  beautiful  dream  signifying  noth 
ing.  Was  not  Christ  a  Jew — a  Talmudist?  Are 
not  all  his  preachings,  nay,  his  very  phrase 
ology,  Talmudic?  Only  he  is  tenderer  than  the 
ironclad  Law — necessarily  ironclad  for  its  time 
and  surroundings.  He  speaks  down  to  the  masses 
always — the  subtlety  of  Christianity  lies  in  this 
world-tenderness.  Judaism  addressed  itself  to 
the  strength  of  man,  Christianity  to  its  weakness. 
Therefore  Judaism  was  for  the  few,  Christianity 
for  the  many.  The  outside  world  was  pressing  too 
close,  its  own  world  growing  too  varied  for  the 
reticences  of  Judaism.  Judaism  speaks  to  the 
reason,  Christianity  to  the  heart.  Judaism  con 
trols — Christianity  consoles.  We  all  have  hearts 
and  emotions;  we  have  not  all  brains  and  the 
power  of  standing  alone.  The  inadequacy  of  Juda- 
.ism  lay  in  ignoring  the  heart  till  the  reason  was 


242         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

satisfied,  or,  rather,  it  sought  to  satisfy  the  heart 
through  the  reason.  A  stern  religion  truly — but 
it  endures.  Why?  Why?  Why?  Because  in  the 
eternal  flux  and  vanity  of  all  things,  forms,  and 
ceremony,  and  dogma,  God  remains.  God  is  the 
keystone  of  Judaism.  While  God  stands,  the  Jew 
stands." 

"  And  that  is  all  that  is  necessary?  " 
"  All,  Philip — to  the  enlightened.  Just  as  the 
f  I  am!'  of  the  first  commandment  comprises — to 
the  enlightened — all  of  the  others.  '  I  am! ' — 
What? — Justice.  And  what  is  Justice?  In  patois 
—Love." 

"  Yes — the  greatest  Brotherly  Love — in  the 
long  run,"  supplemented  Paul.  They  stood  to  let 
a  car  go  by.  When  they  had  reached  the  opposite 
pavement,  "  And  after  all,"  he  continued,  "  what 
does  all  the  cant  and  quibbling  amount  to?  To 
my  understanding,  just  this :  Christianity  teaches 
one  to  bear  life  for  the  after-heaven's  sake,  Juda 
ism  to  live  life  for  life's  sake.  No  setting  aside 
of  this  wonderful  perfectible  or  damnable  physical 
being,  but  that  stern,  far-reaching  principle  of 
atavism  which,  for  the  good  of  man,  made  Moses 
the  first  Board  of  Health,  and  which,  in  pointing 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         243 

out  the  visiting  of  the  sins  of  the  parents,  physical 
and  psychic,  on  the  children  unto  the  third  and 
fourth  generations,  pronounced  for  that  great 
religion  of  Humanity  whither  all  sane  minds  are 
bound.  And  now  that  I  have  patted  myself  back 
to  self-complacency,  to  revert  to  your  antitheses, 
Mr.  Willard,  in  what  lies  the  inadequacy  of  Chris 
tianity?" 

"In  making  Jesus  a  God,"  returned  Daniel. 
"Make  Christ  a  God  and  you  absolve  man  from 
attempting  to  follow  in  his  altitudes.  Leave  him  a 
man,  and  you  establish  the  divine  precept  of 
example — what  Man  has  done  Man  may  do." 

"  Oh,  the  Christ  myth,  as  men  who  do  their  own 
thinking  call  Christ's  divinity,  is  being  gently  put 
away  with  other  leading-strings  and  swaddling- 
thoughts,"  said  Paul,  earnestly.  "It  was  and  is 
still  a  'device  for  leading  childish  souls.  But  there 
are  few  children  left  in  this  era  of  newspaperdom, 
and  Christ  remains  the  great  ethical  teacher,  the 
great  young  Radical  of  a  hidebound  theocracy, 
but  still  a  Jew,  who,  having  uttered  his  thought 
a  span  above  the  specified  height,  found,  as  Heine 
says,  Golgotha.  Strange  that  when  the  Christians 
are  beginning  to  disclaim  him  as  a  God,  the  Jews 
are  beginning  to  claim  him  as  a  man." 


244         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  Showing  that  all  light  tends  to  a  focus," 
observed  Daniel. 

"  No,  showing  still  that  we  are  nothing  if  not 
clannish.  I  am  peculiarly  in  sympathy  with  all 
his  teachings,  and  haven't  a  particle  of  doubt  that 
I  should  have  been  of  his  party  had  I  lived  in  his 
day.  Christ's  party,  mind  you — not  Christianity's. 
To  me,  Jesus  has  always  been  the  Raphael  of 
religions — as  Moses  is  the  Michel  Angelo — a  com 
parison  which,  no  doubt,  would  sound  blasphemous 
in  Christian  ears — but  I  mean  it  in  all  reverence. 
Do  you  understand  me,  Dr.  May?'r 

"  I  think  you  are — what  did  you  call  it? — 
rather  a  radical  Jew,"  said  Philip,  with  a  half 
smile. 

"If  that  means  rational — perhaps.  But  I'm 
only  one  of  many,  especially  in  this  feeling  about 
Christ.  Why,  I  know  a  little  girl,"  and  here  a 
merry,  deep-seated  tenderness  came  into  his  voice, 
"  who  feels  her  kinship  with  him  so  strongly  that 
she  cannot  bear  to  think  of  the  crucifixion.  (  No, 
I  will  not  look,'  she  said  to  me  once,  angrily. 
(  And  if  there  had  been  any  women  there — I  said 
women,'  she  repeated,  pointedly — '  they  would 
have  died  in  their  helplessness  while  that  Roman 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         245 

brutishness  was  being  perpetrated.  Think,  Paul, 
only  thirty-three/  And  when  at  the  end  of  the 
nineteenth  century  a  Jewish  maiden  falls  to  weep 
ing  over  the  self-willed  death  of  Christ.,  for  which 
and  in  whose  divine  name  the  most  unspeakable 
crimes  of  a  world  were  perpetrated  against  her 
ancestry  without  even  the  excuse  of  the  youth  of 
that  world,  I  think  we  may  be  said  to  be  begin 
ning  to  see  straight/' 

"  Oh,  Jean  always  goes  the  full  length/5  mur 
mured  Daniel,  recognizing  the  picture.  "  And  I 
think  you  are  inclined  to  follow  after,  Paul." 

Paul  laughed  softly,  and  a  sudden  cold  distaste 
for  the  man  attacked  Philip  May.  He  resented  the 
laugh,  resented  his  right  to  that  outspoken  inflec 
tion  of  tenderness.  He  shook  hands  with  both  of 
them  when  they  stopped  before  his  door. 

"  I — I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  hesitated  Paul 
Stein, — "  about  your  father's  will." 

"The  will?  I  had  forgotten  about  that.  It 
will  have  to  be  to-morrow  night,  then."  He  spoke 
shortly.  Had  he  been  able  to  see  in  the  dark,  he 
might  have  noticed  the  swarthy  color  in  Paul 
Stem's  high  cheek-bones,  and  the  troubled  setting 
of  Daniel  Willard's  tired  face.  The  appointment 


246         HEIES     OF    YESTERDAY 

made,  he  bade  them  good  night,  letting  himself 
into  his  own  house  as  the  other  two  entered  the 
one  next  door. 

The  oppression  which  had  petrified  him 
throughout  the  long  day  was  disturbed — the  usual 
nice  balance  of  his  nerves  overthrown.  He  walked 
hastily  from  the  dimly  lit  hall  into  the  sitting- 
room,,  but  out  of  its  shadows  rose  the  long  black 
shape  of  that  which  had  claimed  it  for  two  days, 
and  he  wheeled  about,  walking  toward  the  less 
haunted  dining-room.  Midway  he  seemed  to  come 
upon  a  horror  of  memory,  for  he  stopped  short  as 
though  fearful  of  stepping  upon  something.  The 
next  minute,  however,  with  a  rough  shake  of  the 
shoulders,  he  went  forward.  But  the  stiff  order  of 
the  room,  with  its  straight-backed  chairs,  was  not 
what  he  sought,  and  retracing  his  steps,  his  brow 
drawn  in  deep,  impatient  furrows,  he  walked 
upstairs  to  his  study.  The  room  was  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  and  he  entered  its  wide  darkness 
with  a  sense  of  passionate  thankfulness  for  its 
quiet  remoteness.  His  leather  easy-chair  was 
pushed  near  the  open  window,  and  he  threw  him 
self  into  it  with  a  hard-drawn  breath  of  relief. 

The  dread  day  was  over.     In  the  first  moment 
after  the  calamity,  when  he  could  take  thought 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         247 

of  what  had  happened,  he  had  wished,  with  ele 
mental  savagery,  for  carriage  and  spade  that  he 
might  take  and  bury  his  dead  in  quiet  and  alone — 
that  the  carping,  peering  world  might  be  forced 
aside  and  left  unaided  to  make  its  own  inferences, 
which  must  necessarily  be  beside  the  mark.  That 
he  and  his  father  had  parted  in  something  deeper 
than  reconciliation,  something  stronger,  in  its 
silent  recognition  of  mutual  need  and  growing 
custom,  he  had  not  the  morbidity  to  put  aside.  In 
truth,  he  kept  the  knowledge  beside  him  as  he 
would  have  kept  his  father,  had  he  had  the 
power.  Besides,  during  the  eight  or  nine  months 
following  his  withdrawal  from  all  interests  in  the 
power  called  society,  he  had  become  almost  a 
world,  a  law,  and  a  judge  unto  himself — immune 
to  the  power's  approval  or  condemnation.  If  he 
was  living  down  the  derision,  he  was  accomplishing 
it  unconcernedly,  immersed  as  he  was  in  his  pro 
fession.  His  old  habit  of  success  was  his  again 
in  the  sphere  in  which  he  had  now  concentrated 
all  his  energies  and  ambitions,  and  he  had  thought 
himself  content  to  go  on — although  a  girl  next  door 
held  for  him  in  the  depths  of  her  beautiful  eyes 
nothing  but  a  corroding  contempt  and  detestation. 
And  now — what? 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

The  echo  of  the  two  quiet-souled,  thinking  men 
he  had  just  left  acted  like  a  rasp  to  his  deliberate 
equanimity.    They  had  met  the  guns  of  fate  with 
an  unquestioning  "right  about  face!"  and  come 
out  calm,  unscathed,  self-approved  from  the  fire. 
What  were  the  narrow  prejudices  of  the  world  to 
them?     They  were  happy  in  their  life,  happy  in 
their  circle— independent.    He  alone—.    His  nos 
trils  dilated  in  his  sneer  at  self.    But  it  was  not 
a  cold,  superior  sneer— it  was  hot,  and  miserable, 
and  jealous — not  over  the  well-deserved  spirit  of 
peace  which  encompassed  those  two,    his   mental 
equals,  but  because  one,  the  younger  of  the  two, 
had  the  right  to  meet  "  a  little  girl "  he  knew,  on 
equal  terms— had  the  right  to  speak  of  her—.     He 
ground  his  teeth  over  the  thought,  stifling  the 
groan  which  rose  to  his  lips  as  the  sound  of  a  raised 
window  drew  his  eyes  to  the  wall  of  the  other 
house  just  facing  him. 

The  white  figure  of  Jean  Willard  placing  a 
glass  with  violets  upon  the  broad  outer  ledge, 
leaned  for  a  moment  against  the  casement,  then 
she  put  up  her  hand  to  close  the  window,  her  head 
thrown  back  and  up,  her  eyes  arrested  by  the  young 
moon,  which,  drawing  her  out  of  the  dark,  made 
her  own  face  a  shadowy,  slender  moon  of  beauty. 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         249 

All  a  lover's  vocabulary  surged  from  Philip's 
soul  to  his  lips  as  she  appeared  thus  again  to  him 
in  his  second  hour  of  need.  He  sprang  recklessly 
to  his  feet,  and  stood — wordless — facing  her. 
Then— 

"Jean,  will  you  not  speak  to  me?"  his  voice 
crushed  out,  hoarsely. 

She  drew  hack,  startled  by  the  second  summons, 
crossing  her  wrists  instinctively  over  her  bare 
white  throat,  her  eyes,  her  lips  forbidding  him 
utterance. 

"  Good  night,"  he  challenged,  desperately. 

For  a  fleeting  second  a  bewildering,  bewildered 
softness  mutinied  over  her  countenance,  gone 
before  he  could  grasp  it.  Then,  "Good  night,"  she 
answered,  distantly,  faintly.  And  window  and 
blind  fell  between  them,  while,  on  either  side,  two 
souls  stood  struggling,  the  girl  against,  the  man 
in  the  toils  of  a  master-spirit  common  to  human 
kind. 


CHAPTEE   XIV 

"  There  will  be  no  contest,"  he  said  again, 
after  Stein  had  laid  before  him  all  his  rights  and 
powers. 

"  But  it  would  be  mere  child's  play.  You  owe 
it  to  yourself  to  take  into  account  the  fact  that  he 
intended  altering  it — that  he  called  me  up  that 
very  morning  with  that  intention." 

"You  owe  it  to  your  father,"  added  Daniel 
Willard,  in  a  low  voice. 

Philip  met  his  gaze  intently.  "  I  owe  it  to  my 
father  to  have  the  will  probated  exactly  as  it 
stands,  without  comment  or  contest.  So  far  as  1 
can  judge,  it  is  a  very  excellent  and  just  will." 

"  Except  to  yourself,"  interposed  Stein. 

"How  so?" 

"It  is  virtually  an  affirmation  of  disinherit 
ance/' 

"  You  misinterpret.  The  document  merely 
indorses  a  tacit  mutual  understanding.  I  have 
been  independent  of  my  father's  pecuniary  assist- 
250 


HEIRS    OP    YESTEEDAY         251 

ance  for  many  years,  and  he  did  me  the  honor  to 
consider  me  capable  of  always  standing  alone. 
That  is  all.  We  were  the  best  of  friends." 

"  So  I  interpret — interpreted — when  drawing  it 
up,  but—" 

"  It  is  fche  only  interpretation.  To  contest  the 
will  would  be  to  assume  the  contrary,  which  would 
be  preposterous.  He  has  made  me,  you  must  also 
remember,  his  executor  along  with  Mr.  Willard." 

Both  pairs  of  eyes  were  directed  upon  his  coun 
tenance,  endeavoring  to  discover  just  what  amount 
of  feeling  lay  behind  his  disconcerting  calm,  Paul 
looking  for  a  trace  of  justifiable  disappointment, 
Daniel  for  a  glance  of  bitterness  to  show  he  under 
stood.  But  the  unperturbed  business-like  coolness 
of  his  whole  head  and  figure  afforded  them  no  food 
for  speculation. 

"  I  shall  enter  upon  my  duties  as  executor  with 
the  most  interested  co-operation,  Mr.  Willard,"  he 
added,  leaning  back  as  with  the  intention  of  pro 
longing  the  interview.  "  Especially  the  hospital 
endowment.  I  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of 
the  subject  in  my  varied  experiences,  and  it  may 
enable  me  to  ride  one  or  two  of  the  hobbies  of 
which  my  father  often  heard  me  speak.  But  as  to 
the  scholarships — now  that,  I  suppose,  was  an  idea 


252         HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY 

upon  which  you  and  he  must  have  had  some  con 
versation." 

"  It  was  a  theory  of  mine — I  often  spoke  about 
it  to  him — yes,"  admitted  Daniel. 

"Then  with  Mr.  Stein's  advice,  after  he  has 
probated  the  will  and  adjusted  the  several  legacies, 
we'll  know  '  where  we're  at,'  and  proceed  accord 
ingly.  Both  the  hospital  suggested  and  the  other 
are  to  be  self-supporting  and  non-sectarian  as — the 
sky — I  believe  ?  " 

He  bent  his  eyes  in  pleasant  questioning  upon 
his  father's  friend.  He  turned  the  painful  occa 
sion  into  an  interesting  business  proposition. 

Finally,  with  his  knowledge  of  life,  his  thor 
ough  training,  his  wide  outlook,  his  calm  grasp  of 
the  struggling  whole,  he  laid  before  them  the 
result  of  his  experiences  and  observations,  Paul 
Stein,  with  the  frank,  unstinted  praise  of  absorbed 
attention,  leading  him  on  with  quick,  intelligent 
eyes  and  questions.  If,  thought  Paul,  one  could 
separate  the  strength  of  a  man  from  his  vanities, 
what  a  prize  were  here  in  the  perfectly  developed 
intellect  thus  disclosed — what  education  of  the 
faculties,  what  culture  of  expression,  carrying 
him,  Stein,  bodily  and  mentally,  into  the  atmos 
phere  where  his  own  true  self  glowed  and  expanded 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         253 

in  its  just  element.  He  remembered  telling  Jean 
Willard  long  before,  that  he  awaited  Dr.  May's 
coming  as  one  awaits  the  appearance  of  an 
author's  chef  d'ceuvre,  and  how  she  had  twitted 
him  afterward  with  his  easy  change  of  opinion. 
But  to-night,  after  emerging  from  the  charm  of 
his  individuality,  he  found  it  in  his  heart  to  con 
done  much,  to  acknowledge  that  an  "all-round" 
gifted  man,  such  as  he  undoubtedly  was,  had 
some  excuse  for  seeking  a  circle  other  than  that 
which  he  had  accepted  as  representative  of  all 
Jewry. 

When  Philip  returned  to  the  sitting-room 
after  seeing  the  attorney  out,  he  found  Daniel 
Willard  standing  hat  in  hand. 

"  It  has  been  a  very  interesting  evening  to  me," 
the  old  gentleman  began,  hurriedly,  with  flushed 
cheek  and  appealing  eye.  "  But  my — my  dear 
Philip  " ;  his  voice  quavered,  his  hand  went  out 
imploringly. 

Philip  pressed  it,  waiting  courteously. 

"Ah!"  Daniel  exclaimed,  with  an  effort  of 
despair.  "  It  is  all  my  fault.  If  I  had  not 
spoken  of  these — these  theories — which  had  no 
personal  bearing  upon  him — none,  I  assure  you, 
Philip — he  might  have  hesitated  over  the  distri- 


254         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

bution — it  might  never  have  been  written.  As 
it  was,  the  idea — my  idea — lay  ready  at  his  hand 
at  the  fatal  moment." 

"  What  fatal  moment?  "  Philip  spoke  in  gen 
tle  sincerity. 

"  But  no,  Philip/'  murmured  Daniel  in  stifled 
determination,  drawing  his  hand  away,  "but  no. 
Let  there  be  no  more  feigning  between  us.  Surely, 
surely,  you  noticed  the  date  upon  which  the  will 
was  drawn?" 

"  Certainly.  February  28th  of  last  year — the 
day  after  my  return.  What  then?  " 

"Ah,  you  will  lock  yourself  away  from  every 
one.  Can  you  not  come  out  a  moment  for  me?  " 

"  I  think/'  said  Philip,  in  a  low  voice,  "  that  1 
have  made  it  quite  clear  that  I  thoroughly  approve 
of  my  father's  will  and  shall  lend  my  best  efforts 
toward  the  execution  of  it.  I  am  glad  he  has 
remembered  you  as  he  has.  What  more  is  to  be 
said  at  present?  " 

Daniel  turned  from  him  with  a  sigh. 

"Oh— one  moment,  Mr.  Willard,"  called  the 
detaining  voice.  "  About  this  house.  I  hope  to 
leave  it  almost  immediately.  I  suppose  arrange 
ments  can  be  made  as  to  Katie's  legacy  without 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         255 

delay — I  can  arrange  with  her — and  the  furni 
ture—" 

"You  have  no  desire  to  stay  on?" 

"  No.  I  shall  take  chambers  in  the  building 
where  I  have  my  office."  He  stood  by  the  table, 
idly  rasping  the  leaves  of  a  book.  To  Daniel  it 
seemed  like  the  sawing  into  the  last  cord  binding 
him  to  the  strongest  tie  of  his  being. 

"Me — I  can  have  nothing  to  object,"  he  said, 
a  trifle  uncertainly,  with  great  dignity  of  mien. 
"  There  is  Paul,  your  attorney,  to  consult.  We — I 
shall  miss  you." 

"  You  will  always  be  my  most  welcome  guest," 
returned  Philip,  somewhat  dully. 

Daniel's  eyes  were  traveling  over  the  familiar 
furniture  as  if  in  farewell.  Suddenly  he  made  an 
excited  movement  toward  the  heavy  old  writing- 
desk  in  the  corner. 

"  Of — of  what  are  we  all  thinking?  "  he  stam 
mered,  incoherently.  "  There — there — he  often 
made  business  memoranda  for  me.  Will  you  per 
mit  me,  Philip — will  you  permit  me  to  search  the 
desk?" 

"Anything  you  wish,  Mr.  Willard."  He 
walked  across  the  room  and  opened  the  desk  for 
him,  only  partly  understanding  the  old  gentle- 


256         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

man's  disturbance.  Daniel  sat  down,  pulling  out 
an  inner  drawer.  Philip  turned  away. 

He  sat  down  at  the  table,  and,  gradually,  even 
the  sound  of  rustling  paper  was  lost  to  him.  He 
felt  cut  adrift  from  his  surroundings,  like  a  man 
ready  and  waiting  to  travel  forth  upon  a  lonely 
journey.  Resentment  or  self-pity  held  no  part 
in  his  mental  attitude.  He  felt  himself  utterly 
devoid  of  the  power  of  any  sentiment  for  or  against 
anybody.  People— Daniel  Willard,  his  niece 
Jean,  as  he  remembered  her  with  her  last  verdict 
of  "patricide"  written  mercilessly  in  her  accusing 
eyes — were  as  so  many  separated  entities  who 
could  have  no  possible  concern  in  the  cold  scheme 
of  life  which  lay  just  before  him. 

A  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder  caused  him 
to  look  up  into  the  pallid  joy  of  Daniel  Willard's 
face. 

"  I  have  found  something — I  knew  I  would," 
said  Daniel,  agitatedly,  laying  a  slip  of  fluttering 
paper  upon  the  table  before  Philip,  but  keeping 
tight  hold  of  it  and  of  the  shoulder  upon  which  he 
leaned.  "  It  is  only  the  fragment  of  a  letter  writ 
ten  to  me  when  I  was  away  last  summer,  but  never 
sent.  It  is  not  much.  We  cannot  convince  the 
outside  world  with  it — but  for  you — read  it." 


HEIRS    OF    YESTEEDAY         257 

It  was  almost  illegible.  It  lay  looking  up  at 
him  in  helpless  exposure,  and  he  deciphered  it 
slowly. 

MY  DEAR  DANIEL, 

Sometimes  it  is  good  when  a  frend  goes  away  so  you 
can  rite  him  what  you  cannot  say — Daniel  I  thout  to 
myself  that  day  when  she  died  never  I  could  laugh 
agen,  but  now  when  I  look  at  my  son  my  belovid  only 
chile,  Gott  knows  I  am  proud  and  happy — Daniel  tell 
Jean  he  saved  the  life  of  a  poor  girl  last  night  what 
evrybody  said  was  going  to  die — tell  Jean  never  was  a 
son  better  to  his  father  as  my  Philip  to  me — tell  Jean 

The  soft  breathing  of  the  gas  overhead  was 
distinctly  heard  in  the  wide  stillness. 

"  I  am  looking  at  it  too/5  came  Daniel  Willard's 
voice  in  strange  quietude.  "  It  is  very  bad  spell 
ing." 

The  face  beneath  gave  no  sign  of  hearing. 

"  And  bad  writing/'  continued  the  gentle 
voice.  "  I  can  just  make  it  out — even  the  good, 
loving  heart." 

The  fine  hand  beside  his  made  as  if  to  cover 
the  paper.  Daniel's  fingers  closed  vise-like  over 
the  hand. 

"What!  Ashamed  still?  See,  Philip,  let  us 
examine  it  together  and  let  it  speak  for  itself  and 
for  him.  He  cannot  speak  for  himself — he  never 
could.  He  had  no  eloquence — and  very  poor 


258         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

English.  He  was  just  what  the  elect  call  '  a  little 
old  Jew  ' — '  Jew-man/  as  lips  that  call  themselves 
refined  sometimes  put  it.  I  will  paraphrase  that 
epithet  for  you:  Often,  his  voice  in  speaking 
dropped  into  sing-song,  his  speech  into  jargon. 
Sometimes  he  used  his  hands  for  punctuation- 
marks — they  were  the  only  marks  of  expression 
he  knew;  and — God  have  mercy  on  his  memory! 
— I  have  known  him,  in  moments  of  reversion,  to 
mistake  his  knife  for  a  fork.  He  who  ran  could 
read  his  faults;  they  were  written  so  plain  on  top. 
But  just  with  a  short  pause,  the  runner  could  have 
read  that  Joseph  May  never  drank  his  manhood 
away;  he  never  betrayed  a  friend;  he  never 
wronged  another  man's  wife;  he  never  slandered  a 
good  name;  he  never  lied  himself  into  fortune  or 
favor.  Yet  his  life  was  not  all  a  negation,  seeing 
his  hand  was  always  glad  to  follow  the  promptings 
of  his  good  heart.  His  soul  was  as  faultless  as  this 
perfect,  well-kept  hand  of  yours  over  which  mine 
rests.  All  his  life  he  lived  true,  but  he  wrote  and 
spoke  in  a  way  to  make  the  angels  of  culture  weep. 
Now  weigh  him/' 

The  gas  breathed  on  monotonously. 

"  It  is  more  bitter  than  death  for  me  to  have 
to  speak  in  this  way  to  you,"  went  on  the  low 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         259 

voice  in  strong  intensity,  "  but  he  was  my  friend — 
and  I  am  old,  and  you  are  young,  and  so  you  will 
listen  to  me.  For  when  a  son  comes  to  measure 
his  father,  he  must  bring  with  him  something 
greater  than  the  pretty,  petty  scale  of  a  conven 
tional  estheticism.  The  cry  of  blood  is  such  a 
far,  wistful  cry,  Philip.  It  ties  us  heart  to  heart — 
it  understands  so  much.  If  we  had  not  that  to 
rely  on,  how  many  of  us  would  be  alone,  lonely 
with  an  awful  soul-loneliness,  within  this  hurry 
ing,  misjudging  world.  There  is  a  verse  which  I 
have  read  which  always  occurs  to  me  as  something 
very  beautiful — always  it  seems  to  me  it  should  be 
set  to  the  most  beautiful  music  the  world  can  pro 
duce.  It  is  that  scene  in  which  Bathsheba  comes 
with  a  petition  to  her  son,  the  great  and  wise 
King  Solomon,  clad  then  in  the  purple  of  his 
worldly  glory.  The  Book  says :  e  And  the  king 
rose  up  to  meet  her,  and  bowed  himself  unto  her, 
and  sat  down  on  his  throne,  and  caused  a  seat  to  be 
set  for  the  king's  mother;  and  she  sat  on  his  right 
hand  ' — ah,  forgive  me." 

A  woman  might  have  been  speaking  to  him  for 
gentleness.  Philip  raised  his  eyes,  bitter  and 
glooming  from  his  still  white  face.  He  cleared 
his  throat. 


260         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

"  Thank  you/'  he  said,  hoarsely,  and  stood  up. 

Daniel  turned  for  his  hat.  "  You  will  present 
this — justification — to  Paul  Stein  to-morrow?  "  he 
asked,  his  finger  on  the  paper. 

Philip's  face  set  like  steel.  "  Nonsense,"  he 
said,  lightly.  "  There  is  no  justification  neces 
sary  to  any  one."  He  put  his  hand  over  the  paper 
with  an  excluding  gesture  of  possession. 

Daniel  moved  aside. 

"  And — you  are  still  determined  to  leave  this 
house?"  he  asked. 

"  Quite.     To-morrow  possibly." 

"  Well,  good  night,  Philip." 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Willard." 

He  accompanied  him  to  the  porch-door.  He 
stood  listening  to  his  footsteps  long  after  they  had 
died  away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

But  whatever  Philip  May,  or  any  other,  was 
battling  with  in  silence  of  heart,  was  presently 
lost,  swallowed  up,  in  the  shock  which  shook  the 
whole  nation  to  its  foundations,  when,  on  a  night 
of  February,  two  hundred  and  fifty  American 
seamen  were  hurled,  without  herald,  out  of  a 
friendly  port  into  the  port  of  the  silent  Unknown. 

The  calamity  brought  the  nation  as  one  man  to 
its  feet.  A  great  shout  for  revenge  reverberated 
from  ocean  to  ocean;  and  while  the  conservatives 
frantically  begged  the  yelling  mob  to  keep  still — 
for  God's  sake — others  as  frantically  shrieked  to 
them  to  keep  on — for  man's — for  humanity's  sake, 
in  the  shape  of  Spanish-starved  Cubans.  A  strong 
people  felt  its  great,  untried  sinews  swelling,  the 
young  giant  felt  its  unmatched  muscles  straining 
and  pulling,  and  spoiling  for  a  fight.  "  Manifest 
destiny"  was  at  work  with  its  hideous  means — life 
went  between  a  hurrah  and  a  sob — there  was  no 
longer  any  individual  life — it  was  all  national. 

And  amid  the  passing  of  ultimatums  and  reso 
261 


262         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

lutions  of  Congress  demanding  the  immediate 
evacuation  of  Cuba  by  the  inimical  Spanish,  and 
the  haughty  responses  of  the  proud  Dons  to  the 
"Yankee  pigs,"  the  latter,  with  characteristic 
directness,  sent  their  troops  marching  to  the  front. 
On  a  gray  afternoon  in  April  the  gallant  First 
Regiment,  to  the  patter  of  roses,  and  clanging  of 
bells,  and  booming  and  whistling,  and  cheering 
and  bugling,  and  waving  of  banners,  marched  out 
and  away  from  the  soldiers'  paradise,  the  Presidio 
of  San  Francisco.  But  the  ranks  were  soon  filled 
in  to  overflowing  by  the  call  for  volunteers,  Cali 
fornia  answering  mightily  with  ten  times  her 
quota — men,  incapacitated  by  years,  or  physical 
inadequacies,  or  family  obligations,  weeping  with 
disappointment  because  their  country  refused  to 
accept  their  mortgaged  lives.  During  those  days 
women's  lips  took  on  that  close-pressed  look 
which  comes  to  them  in  time  of  war,  despite  the 
brave  cheer  of  their  words. 

Suddenly  the  tension  broke.  On  the  1st  of 
May  occurred — Dewey!  And  any  little  shaver, 
from  ocean  to  ocean,  could  tell  you,  with  the  pride 
of  a  veteran,  the  story  of  that  famous  little  ante- 
breakfast  sail  of  the  Asiatic  squadron  into  the 
beautiful  bay  of  Manila  where  Commodore  George 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         263 

Dewey  so  gallantly  and  gracefully  led  the  gallant 
Dons  their  piteous  dance  to  death,  wiping,  within 
seven  hours,  the  entire  Spanish  fleet  off  the  face 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

All  hearts  turned  breathlessly  westward 
toward  the  island  spoil  of  war.  The  rendezvousing 
at  San  Francisco  of  the  troops  destined  for  the 
Manila  expedition  went  picturesquely  on,  the 
great  military  camps  at  the  Presidio  and  Bay  Dis 
trict  track  grew  into  white-tented  cities,  the 
streets  were  alive  with  blue-coats  and  fluttering 
flags.  Down  at  the  ferries  the  women  were 
receiving  the  incoming  soldiers  with  luncheons 
and  roses.  Everywhere,  singly  and  in  bands, 
women  were  cutting  and  sewing  abdominal  band 
ages  and  comfort-bags — and  love  knows  what! — 
for  some — any— dear  life.  Out  at  the  camps  they 
fluttered  to  and  fro  bearing  hampers  of  eatables — 
and  uneatables — and  shoes  and  underclothing,  for 
the  boys  of  varied  and,  ofttimes,  piteous  fortunes. 
There  was  not  a  moment  left  in  Jean  Willard's 
life  in  those  memorable  days  to  justify  any  regret 
or  self-despair — she  had  found,  for  the  time  being, 
an  absorbing  interest  beyond  self,  and  she  gave 
herself  to  it  with  fanatic  zeal. 

And  her  face  began  to  wear  the  white,  spiritual 


264         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

light  of  a  devotee.     And  Daniel  Willard,  looking 
at  her,  felt  his  heart  contract  with  anxiety. 

"  You  will  wear  yourself  out  with  those  boys," 
he  ventured  to  expostulate. 

"  It's  all  in  a  good  cause,"  she  laughed,  gather 
ing  up  a  heap  of  magazines,  and  dropping  them 
into  a  box  ready  for  delivery  at  camp. 

"  Yes — but  you  are  robbing — " 

"  Daniel  to  pay  Paul?  I  know,  dear,  but  it  is 
only  for  a  little  while,  you  know.  And,  speaking 
of  Paul — our  tin-soldier,  Sergeant  Stein,  I  mean — 
I  promised  to  bring  him  something  good  to  eat 
this  evening.  Will  you  go  with  me  to  the  Pre 
sidio  after  dinner?  " 

"  Certainly — since  you  have  promised.  But  it 
seems  to  me  a  little  rest — " 

"  Best!  "  echoed  the  girl  blithely,  stretching  her 
arms  high  in  air.  "Why,  I've  been  resting  all 
my  life.  Besides,  I'm  perfectly  happy  doing  these 
things.  No  rest — to  be  happy,  uncle  mine." 

The  fleeting,  haunted  look  in  the  eyes  above  the 
laughing  mouth  robbed  his  own  of  light. 

They  left  the  car  at  Lombard  Street,  walking 
westward  out  the  broad  boulevard,  under  the 
sweet,  still  peace  of  the  early  evening  sky.  A 
bugle  floated  out  from  the  distant  trees  of  the 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         265 

Eeservation,  rousing  the  sleeping  echoes.  A  cav 
alryman,  trotting  by  on  his  black  charger,  turned 
to  look  again  at  the  fleetly  moving,  pale-faced  girl 
with  the  wondrous  uplifted  eyes.  For  to  Jean 
the  beauty  of  the  evening,  the  environment,  the 
call  of  the  bugle,  were  full  of  an  unspeakable, 
exquisite  harmony. 

They  entered  the  Eeservation  gates,  moving 
with  the  crowd  of  visiting  sightseers  through  the 
white-tented,  sentry-guarded  camp  streets,  till 
they  found  their  guardsman,  Sergeant  Stein, 
standing  in  his  blue  army-coat  outside  his  tent- 
door.  He  took,  with  exaggerated  thanks,  the  box 
of  dainties  he  had  jestingly  demanded,  and 
strolled  about  with  them  searching  out  their  young 
Jewish  and  other  acquaintances  among  the  volun 
teers.  Lights  began  to  gleam  opalescently 
through  tentings,  the  sentries  continued  their 
monotonous  pacing  in  the  sands  among  the  curious 
throng. 

A  superior  officer  accosted  Paul  Stein  and,  with 
a  military  salute,  he  bade  his  friends  good  night, 
while  they  continued  on  to  the  car  terminus  at  the 
foot  of  the  grounds.  They  stood  still  on  the  eleva 
tion  among  a  group  of  soldiers,  and  faced  the 
strangely  impressive  scene  before  them — the 


266         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

ghostly  illuminated  tents  stretching  north,  east, 
and  west  to  the  firs  and  pines  shadowing  the  long 
foot-bridge  leading  barrackward — thousands  of 
strong,  soldierly  men  looming  up  darkly,  big  with 
destiny,  against  the  serene  sky  flushed  now  with 
the  last  rose-streaks  of  a  lingering  sunset;  beyond 
the  waters  rose  the  eternal,  watching  hills. 

Two  tall,  bearded  civilians  sprang  from  an 
approaching  car,  stood  a  moment  in  consultation, 
and  passed  perforce  before  them.  The  nearer  one 
bent  a  quick,  recognizing  regard  upon  them,  and 
hats  were  raised  in  salutation. 

"Ah,  Philip/"  murmured  Daniel,  noting  the 
glance  pausing  for  a  second  time  over  his  niece's 
face  as  they  passed  hurriedly  on. 

"  That  was  the  Governor  with  him/'  he 
remarked.  "I  hear  they  are  on  very  friendly 
terms." 

He  received  no  answer. 

He  turned  to  look  at  her.  "  My  dear,"  he  said, 
with  startled  tenderness,  "  let  us  go  home  at  once." 

"  We  were  going  to  wait  for  '  taps,' "  she 
reminded  him  in  surprise. 

"  Yes.  But  I  think  I  have  changed  my  mind. 
Let  us  take  this  car." 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         267 

The  next  day  he  presented  himself  at  Dr.  May's 
office. 

"You  are  surprised  to  see  me/'  he  suggested, 
when  he  was  admitted,  and  the  doctor  motioned 
him  to  he  seated. 

"  Yes — hut  very  glad/'  returned  Philip,  seating 
himself  opposite  his  visitor. 

"  Of  course  you  cannot  know.  Yet  last  night 
— at  the  Presidio — I  helieve  I  was  not  mistaken — 
it  occurred  to  me  afterward  that  you  had  regarded 
strangely,  had  noticed — " 

"  Your  niece?" 

"Yes." 

"  She  is  not  well — is  that  what  you  have  come 
to  say?  "  He  spoke  hurriedly,  peremptorily. 

"  But  you  are  mistaken,"  faltered  Daniel,  put 
ting  up  a  trembling  hand.  "  That  is  the  strange 
ness  of  it — she  is  very  well.  But  you  noticed  how 
she  looks?  She  is  fading." 

"  She  looked  paler — and  thinner,  I  thought/' 
he  acquiesced,  roughly.  "  Does  she  complain?  " 

"  No,  she  laughs.  All  day  she  is  occupied  from 
morning  till  night  with  Eed  Cross  work  and  look 
ing  after  those  friendless  soldiers  at  the  hospital. 
She  gives  herself  no  rest." 

"Her  music?" 


268         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 

"  She  plays  patriotic  airs.    She  does  not  sing." 

Philip  smiled  with  bitter  intuition.  "  There  is 
— some  one  in  the  army,  perhaps/'  he  began. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  interrupted  Daniel,  positively. 
"There  is  no  one,  but—  He  stopped,  struck 
abruptly  with  a  possible  idea. 

Philip  laughed  shortly,  as  though  he  had  been 
answered.  "  Take  her  away,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"  She  is  too  intense.  That  sort  of  strain  would 
break  down  the  calmest." 

"  Where  shall  I  take  her?  " 

"  Oh,  (  any  old  place/  as  the  soldiers  in  camp 
say,  only  don't  keep  her  here."  The  even  edge  of 
his  handsome  teeth  gleamed  in  a  smile. 

"  You  advise  it — seriously?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  she  will  not  go.  She  will  laugh  at  me  and 
say  she  is  quite  well." 

"  Use  a  subterfuge.  Say  your  physician  has 
ordered — the  mountains — for  your  health." 

Daniel  flushed.  After  a  pause,  "  You  seem  to 
understand  her,"  he  murmured. 

"  Yes,"  Philip  smiled. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Jean  toiled  up  Laura  Brookman's  broad  stair 
way.  She  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  top,  uncer 
tain  in  which  direction  to  go,  when  the  sound  of  a 
child's  voice  reached  her  and  she  went  toward  it, 
pushing  open  the  door  of  the  children's  bedroom. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  she  asked  from  the  thresh 
old. 

"  Why,  it's  Jean,"  cried  Mrs.  Brookman,  drop 
ping  the  brush  with  which  she  was  curling  her 
little  daughter's  hair,  and  going  quickly  to  meet 
the  girl.  "  Draw  up  a  comfortable  chair  for  Jean, 
Elsie.  Tired,  dear?  " 

"Tired?  Me?  Yes,  I  believe  I  am— I  can't 
imagine  why,"  echoed  Jean,  opening  her  eyes  wide, 
and  sinking  into  the  low  rocking-chair  Elsie 
dragged  toward  her.  "But  one  would  think  I 
were  ill  or  dying  by  the  way  you  look  at  me. 
You're  getting  me  mixed  up  with  Uncle  Daniel, 
aren't  you?  He  is  the  one  on  whose  account  we 
are  going  away — that  dreadful  insomnia,  you  know. 
No,  don't  unbutton  my  jacket,  Elsie^  I've  only 
269 


270         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

dropped  in  for  a  minute  to  say  good  by.  We  are 
going  to-morrow  morning  at  eight  and — oh,  Elsie, 
why  are  you  having  your  hair  curled,  and  what 
may  the  gorgeous  array  on  the  bed  portend?  " 
She  leaned  back,  pale,  but  animatedly  interested. 

"  Mrs.  Baker  is  giving  a  tea  this  afternoon  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Red  Cross  Society/'  explained 
Elsie's  mother,  resuming  her  task,  "  and  Elsie  has 
been  asked  to  sing.  Where  have  you  been,  Jean? 
Doing  a  lot  of  walking?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  I've  just  made  a  few  good-by  calls — 
I  wanted  to  see  some  of  the  soldier  boys'  mothers 
before  I  leave.  I  heard  that  Mrs.  Levison  has 
grown  so  downcast,  now  that  the  troops  are  about 
to  go.  You  can't  draw  a  smile  from  her,  although 
the  girls  are  doing  their  best  to  cheer  her  with 
patriotic  orations.  ( Talk  away/  she  snapped, 
grimly,  this  afternoon.  (  For  me,  I'd  rather  have 
a  live  coward  every  day  than  a  dead  hero  any 
day.'  But  we  finally  got  her  to  admit  she  didn't 
mean  exactly  that,  although,  through  her  tears, 
we  couldn't  just  make  out  what  she  did  mean. 
Out  at  Mrs.  Arnstein's,  who  has  been  a  brave  Spar 
tan  mother  all  along,  they  told  me  how  she  began 
to  cry  last  night  during  dinner  when  the  dessert 
was  brought  on,  because  Ben  couldn't  have  any — 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         271 

and  it  was  his  favorite  pudding!     Think    of    it, 
Elsie!    Isn't  that  shocking?  " 

"I  wouldn't  cry  about  an  old  pudding," 
answered  the  child,  contemptuously,  her  cheeks 
and  eyes  glowing. 

"You  and  Jean  would  make  good  drummer- 
boys/'  said  Laura  Brookman,  letting  a  heavy  silky 
spiral  droop  to  her  daughter's  waist.  "  And  all 
this  patriotism  in  the  abstract,  Miss  Willard,  is 
very  high  and  brave,  and  unselfish,  but  I  doubt  if 
you  would  sing  the  same  song  if  some  one  dearer 
to  you  than — " 

"  You  don't  believe  that,  Laura,"  returned 
Jean,  gently.  "  You  know  if  I  had  any  one  very 
close  to  me,  which  I  haven't,  who  could,  and  didn't 
want  to,  join  the  army,  I'd  be  ashamed  to  claim 
him  as  my  own." 

"  Xonsense.  You  have  sung  that  song  to  the 
echoes,"  said  Laura,  harshly.  "  I  should  think 
the  responsibility  would  make  an  eloquent  girl 
like  you  hesitate  once  in  a  while  from  expressing 
herself  so  carelessly.  You  have  influenced  quite 
enough  young  recruits." 

Her  eyes  flashed  for  a  moment  upon  her  friend. 

The  girl  put  her  hands  to  her  temples.  "  Do 
you  know,  I  really  think  I  have  a  headache,"  she 


272         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

said,  surprisedly.  "  Or  was  it  your  horrid  words, 
Laura,  that  sent  such  a  throb — dear  me;  how 
everything  swings!  There,  it's  gone.  What  do 
you  think  happened  to  me  last  night?  I  almost 
fainted  when  I  was  saying  good  by  to  Paul,  and 
if  that — why,  Elsie,  sweetheart,  what  is  the 
matter?" 

"Mamma  pulled  my  hair,"  sobbed  the  little 
one,  putting  her  head  down  on  her  knees. 

Mrs.  Brookman  had  the  little  face  against  hers 
in  a  minute.  "  Hush,"  she  whispered,  impera 
tively.  "  As  though  mamma  wouldn't  rather  hurt 
herself  than  you." 

A  rush  of  miserable  understanding  thrilled 
through  Jean.  "  Don't  be  a  cry-baby,  Elsie,"  she 
said,  coming  to  the  rescue,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  what 
Charlie  Taylor  did  night  before  last  to  help  his 
country.  You  know  Charlie  Taylor,  the  boy  who 
lives  across  the  street  from  me?  Well,  his  brother, 
Lieutenant  Taylor,  has  gone  to  the  front,  and 
Charlie  promised  to  look  after  the  ladies  for  him 
while  he  is  at  the  war — a  real  squire  of  dames  is  he, 
like  those  they  used  to  have  years  ago,  you  know. 
^Tow,  Lieutenant  Taylor  has  a  young  wife  who  isn't 
very  well,  and  she  is  living  with  her  mother  away 
out  on  Scott  Street,  and  the  last  command  the 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         273 

lieutenant  gave  Charlie  was  that  his  wife,  Edith, 
was  not  to  be  frightened  about  him.  Well,  night 
before  last,  one  of  those  fake-extra  newsboys  began 
suddenly  to  make  night  hideous  with  his  war-cry, 
and  just  as  I  ran  to  the  door  to  hear  what  he  was 
saying,  there  was  a  sudden  silence,  and  a  moment 
later  Charlie  Taylor,  hatless,  with  golden  hair 
flying  in  the  breeze,  appeared  around  the  corner 
like  a  beautiful  young  St.  Michael.  '  Why,  Charlie,' 
I  called,  'what  have  you  in  your  arms?'  'All 
that  fellow's  extras,'  he  shouted  back.  '  I  bought 
'em.  Now  he  can't  frighten  Edith.'  So  he's  my 
Captain  Charlie." 

The  child  forgot  her  tears,  listening  to  the 
bright,  enthusiastic  voice,  and  Laura  Brookman 
regained  her  composure.  But  the  girl  sprang  rest 
lessly  to  her  feet.  "  I  must  go,"  she  said,  looking 
at  her  watch.  "  Don't  forget  you  are  to  be  my 
squire  at  the  Boys'  Club,  Laura,  while  I'm  gone, 
and  don't  forget  my  soldier  boys.  Oh,  how  I  hate 
to  go  away — now." 

She  kissed  them  good  by,  and  was  soon  out  in 
the  sunshiny,  windy  street,  where  every  house  was 
bright  with  flags.  Now  and  then  a  soldier  passed, 
Jean  nodding  to  each  in  the  camaraderie  born  of 


274         HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY 

the  hour,  which  was  never  misunderstood  or 
abused.  A  rag-tag  regiment  of  tots  was  having  a 
council  of  war  in  a  sand-lot,  as  to  whether  it 
should  be  a  land  or  naval  battle  that  day;  two 
solemn-looking  youngsters  in  infantry-striped 
overalls  were  bearing  a  wounded  comrade  off  the 
field  of  battle.  The  starry-eyed  girl  passed  along 
among  this  toy  war,  her  thoughts  wistful  and  far 
away  from  it  all.  Two  schoolgirls,  holding  hands, 
came  by,  softly  singing  "  Tenting  To-night."  She 
had  passed  these  same  singing  schoolgirls  before, 
and  now  she  smiled  absently  into  their  eyes,  while 
almost  running  into  a  tall,  lanky  blue-coat  at  the 
corner. 

"Why,  Paul!"  She  held  his  hand  while  he 
lifted  his  gray  campaign  hat.  "  Once  again,  for 
luck." 

"  I  hope  so.    Where  are  you  bound  for?  " 

"Just  around  the  corner,  home.  And  you'll 
come  and  dine  with  us." 

"Not  to-night.  But  I'll  walk  down  to  the 
house  with  you."  They  strolled  along  together. 

"  How  many  subscriptions  did  you  get  up  to 
day?"  he  asked,  looking  fondly  down  into  her 
deeply  shadowed  eyes.  "  How  many  more  Jewish 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         275 

volunteers  did  you  count — how  many  hungry  souls 
did  you  feed  and  how  many  soleless  souls  did  you 
console?  How  many  romantic  hearts  did  you — " 

"  Silly  fellow,  keep  still.  I  haven't  accom 
plished  a  thing  to-day.  Oh,  yes,  I  attended  a 
meeting  this  morning — and  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 
She  laughed  a  short,  embittered  laugh. 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  a  vote  of  thanks  was  offered  to  all  the 
ladies  who  had  given  assistance  to  the  soldiers, 
especially  for  the  splendid  patriotism  shown  by 
the  Jewish  and  colored  ladies."  Her  eyes  flashed 
in  her  pale  face. 

Paul  smiled.  "  Evidently  you  don't  like  fine 
distinctions,"  he  mused,  amusedly. 

"  They're  not  fine — under  that,"  she  said, 
swiftly,  nodding  toward  a  flag  which  fluttered  out 
in  the  breeze. 

"But  it  was  meant  most  kindly.  Jean,  Jean, 
don't  be  forever  butting  your  head  against  a  stone 
wall.  It's  no  use.  The  long  and  short  of  it  is — 
well,  there's  that,"  he  indicated  the  flying  colors, 
"and  here  we  are — answering;  with  no  spread- 
eagleism,  only  in  common  decency,  wiping  out, 
perhaps,  an  old-time  unjust  accusation — with  our 


276         HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY 

lives.  On  the  battlefield  all  blood  flows  red."  He 
took  both  her  hands  in  his,  having  reached  her 
doorstep. 

"  I  won't  tell  you  to  be  brave,  Paul,"  she  said, 
looking  into  his  strong,  kind  eyes.  "  But  oh,  my 
dear,  take  care  of  yourself." 

He  threw  back  his  head,  laughing  aloud. 
"  That  reminds  me  of  a  popular  song  we  sang  long 
before  your  day: 

" '  Mother,  may  I  go  out  to  swim? 

Yes,  my  dearest  daughter; 
Hang  your  clothes  on  the  hickory  limb, 
But  don't  go  near  the  water.' 

Which  is  all  very  loving  and  foolish,  and  there 
fore  human.  Well,  friend  o'  mine,  once  again, 
good  by.  Be  good  to  yourself — and  to  all  our 
own."  His  hands  gripped  hers  tensely. 

"  I  will,  Paul,"  she  responded,  truly.  "  Now 
I'll  stand  here  and  watch  you  to  the  corner." 

"  That's  like  you,"  he  returned,  gayly,  swinging 
off.  But  the  next  minute  he  was  back  again. 

"  It  seems  as  though  I  couldn't  leave  you,"  he 
laughed,  hurriedly.  "  But  it  just  occurred  to  me 
that  some  news  I  heard  at  camp  might  lessen  your 
solicitude  for  yours  truly.  Colonel  Smith  told  me 
this  morning  that  our  eminent  friend,  your  quon- 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         277 

dam  neighbor.,  Dr.  May,  has  offered  his  services, 
been  appointed,  through  his  friend,  the  Governor, 
an  acting  assistant  surgeon,  and  sails  with  us  on 
Wednesday  for  Manila — so — .  What,  Jean,  you're 
not  going  to  faint  again! "  He  put  out  a  startled 
hand. 

"  I  never  do  more  than  make  a  feint  at  it,"  she 
reassured  him,  smiling  through  her  pallor.  "It 
must  be  the  sun  in  my  eyes.  Yes,  you'll  be  in 
skillful  hands." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.    Well— so  long!  " 

At  the  corner  he  turned.  The  great  flag  on  the 
staff  fluttered  out  in  the  stiff  breeze  toward  him. 
The  westering  sun  illumined  him  as  he  raised  his 
hat  high.  It  was  thus  that  Jean  ever  after  remem 
bered  him. 

"  I  am  not  going  in,"  she  thought,  dazedly. 
"But  what  was  I  going  to  do?  Oh,  it  doesn't 
matter — I'll  just  walk  down  the  street — perhaps 
I'll  meet  uncle." 

She  strolled  away. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

But  she  turned  down  the  first  side  street,  dully 
conscious  that  she  did  not  wish  to  meet  her  uncle, 
or  any  one — that,  for  a  little  space,  all  she  desired 
was  to  be  quite  alone,  that  she  might  have  time  to 
forget  the  dread  vision  Paul  Stein's  words  had 
brought  to  her — the  vision  of  a  lonely  form,  of  a 
bearded  face,  dead  and  upturned  to  a  cold,  white 
moonlight. 

For  several  minutes,  long  as  infinity,  her  dark 
ened  senses  could  hold  nothing  else,  and  it  only 
faded  when  the  gripping,  never  wholly  absent 
memory  of  Philip  May's  voice,  calling  her  as  out 
of  the  whole  world,  resumed  its  despotic  sway. 
Over  and  again  she  had  striven  to  banish  from 
her  life  the  memory  of  its  passionate  longing, 
though,  at  the  same  moment,  came  the  recollection 
of  how  she  had  responded  to  it.  It  confounded 
reason.  Had  he  had  no  provocation?  Were  not 
existing  circumstances  extenuating?  What  right 
had  the  Past  to  him — the  Past  with  its — 

Fifth  commandment! 

278 


HEIES    OF    YESTEEDAY         279 

She  raised  her  head  as  to  a  living  voice — 
answered  by  the  rebuke  of  Life.  The  flash  of 
eternal  truth  smote  her  relentlessly.  Fifth  com 
mandment — the  far-seeing  care  of  the  man-of-God 
for  the  old!  Heavy  tears  welled  to  her  eyes  at 
thought  of  the  yearning  old  father,  Joseph  May, 
lying  silent  with  his  stilled  griefs.  The  tie  of 
blood — so  Titan-strong  in  the  Jew — was  that  the 
Middle  Pillar  upon  which  the  House  stood?  She 
tried  to  beat  back  the  swarming,  lashing  thoughts. 
And  yet — and  yet,  came  the  passionate  rebuttal, 
this  sentimental  care,  this  forever  turning  of  the 
eyes  backward  for  fear  of  treading  on  some  out 
worn  tradition,  this  tyrannous  claim  upon  free 
will — was  not  that  the  power  which  impeded  union, 
which,  first  suffocating,  would  finally  stamp  out 
individuality,  and  hold  forever  in  leash  the  dream 
of  barriers  down,  straining  at  the  heart  of  life? 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  her  tortured  soul 
complained,  tossed  from  sentiment  to  reason,  striv 
ing  to  seize  life  by  the  forelock,  demanding  the 
answer  which  is  only  given  when  life  is  slipping 
through  the  fingers. 

Alas!  the  answer  did  not  lie  with  her.  She 
recognized  the  futility  of  her  struggle,  and  gave 
in  at  last.  For  her  there  remained  only  one  com- 


280         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

prehensible  cry  forevermore,  and  she  lifted  her 
woman  soul  to  that,  finding  the  common  factor 
which  reduces  all  to  one  denomination.  She 
moved  on,  strong  in  surrender,  prisoner  to  an 
unsought  love  for  a  man  who  was  presently  going 
out  of  her  life  as  silently  as  he  had  entered  it. 

And  his  going  away — she  did  not  exalt  it  to  any 
heroism — it  was  only,  as  Paul  had  said,  common 
decency;  but  the  silence  of  it,  the  loneliness  of  it, 
these  were  the  smiting,  possessive  powers  of  it  over 
a  nature  and  love  like  Jean  Willard's.  She  ached 
in  her  helpless  wistfulness.  If  she  could  have 
stretched  out  her  hand  to  him,  have  seen  him  only 
once,  to — 

But,  the  test  was  granted,  as,  abruptly  turning 
the  corner,  she  came  face  to  face  with  Philip 
May. 

She  stood  still  and  held  out  her  hand,  looking 
straight  and  truly  into  his  stern  face. 

"  You  were  going  without  saying  good  by  to 
us,"  she  explained,  gently.  "  Was  it  quite  fair?  " 

He  commanded  his  bewilderment.  "  I  thought 
so,"  he  said,  quietly. 

She  tried  again.  "I — I  wanted  to  ask  you  to 
take  good  care  of  some  of  my  friends." 

"  I  shall  remember.     I  think  I  know  at  least 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         281 

one."  His  lips  parted  in  a  faint  smile  of  under 
standing. 

"And  of  yourself,"  she  added,  in  undaunted 
misery. 

"Thank  you."  He  waited  for  her  further 
pleasure. 

She  stood  looking  beyond. 

"I  shall  not  forget  your  order,"  he  repeated, 
and  raised  his  hat  in  leave-taking,  noticing  her 
uncertainty  of  manner. 

"  I — "  She  raised  her  saddened  eyes  suddenly 
to  his.  The  blood  rushed  responsively  over  both 
their  faces. 

"  Which  way  are  you  going?  "  he  demanded, 
on  impulse. 

"  Anywhere — up  this  hill,  I  think." 

He  turned  and  walked  with  her. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said,  with  desperate 
control. 

"  No,  no." 

"  I  could  almost  find  it  in  me  to  speak  to  you. 
By  heaven,  I  will — you  have  given  me  the 
chance! "  But  the  leap  of  hope  died  down  the 
next  minute,  leaving  an  inevitable  memory  in  its 
stead. 

They  walked  on  silently  for  a  space,  as  though 


282         HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY 

weighted  by  the  stillness  of  the  dying  day,  removed 
by  its  pensive  hold  from  all  the  world  besides,  they 
too  alone,  mounting  the  hilly,  almost  deserted 
streets. 

He  spoke  abruptly.  "  Perhaps  I  misinterpret 
you,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  you  to  mistake  me. 
I  am  still  the  same  derelict  you  arraigned  last 
year — egoist — " 

She  turned  her  head  swiftly.  "Forget  that," 
she  sharply  commanded. 

"  I  have  not  changed,"  he  reiterated,  harshly, 
"in  spite  of  the  lesson.  I  still  stand  stolidly  by 
my  first  principles.  But  this  is  nothing  to  you." 

"  It  is  very  much  to  me."  She  looked  before 
her  to  the  hill  horizon. 

A  pale  intensity  of  purpose  settled  over  his 
features. 

"  I  hated  the  badge  of  difference,"  he  gave 
forth  between  his  teeth,  holding  back  half, 
explaining,  not  pleading,  according  to  his  nature. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  had  a  dream  of  fusion  with — my  kind." 

Her  lips  set  in  sad  understanding. 

"I  considered  myself  neither  fakir  nor  fool." 

"  I  know. 


HEIES    OP    YESTERDAY         283 

"  I  said  to  myself,  I  am  an  individual,  not  a 
class." 

"I  understand." 

"  I  said  to  myself,  '  What  have  I  to  do  with 
Ghettoes?'" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  I  felt  the  warm,  free  sun  of  the  present  burn 
ing  and  quickening  within  me.  I  was  strong  and 
forward-looking.  I  decided  I  would  not  be  fate's 
social  cripple  linked  by  an  invisible  chain  to  a 
slavish  past.  I  resolved  to  break  the  chain" 

She  stood  a  moment  before  crossing  the  street 
and  looked  sadly  up  at  him. 

"  I  discovered  you  can  never  break  the  chain." 

The  passionless  words  chimed  fatally  with  the 
perfect  stillness  about  them.  They  walked  on 
under  the  weight  of  their  finality,  closer  together, 
more  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  for  their 
stern  meaning. 

He  bent  his  set,  fighting  face  fully  toward  her. 
"  I  discovered  there  are  other — closer — more  bind 
ing  links  riveting  us  to  the  chain.  For  I  suc 
ceeded  in  pulling  at  the  chain — till  my  father 
fell." 

She  had  always  demanded  that  any  wrong-doer 


284         HEIES    OF    YESTEKDAY 

be  punished — she  had  always  agonized  over  the 
pain  of  any  one's  punishment.  She  pressed  her 
quivering  lips  close,  keeping  herself  doggedly 
down. 

"  That  is  all/'  he  announced. 

"Hush."  She  could  not  hear  his  harsh  reti 
cence. 

"Understand  me — it  has  not  made  me  any 
gladder  to  he  a  Jew  than  I  was  before — even 
though  I  know  that  the  thought  of  the  unfettered 
Jew  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  unfettered  Chris 
tian,  even  though  I  have  been  taught  that  breed  is 
stronger  than  creed — and  even  though  I  know 
that  the  Jew  is  no  longer  a  religion  apart — only  a 
race  apart." 

He  raised  his  hat  a  moment  as  though  it  burned 
his  brow.  "  I  have  never  thanked  God  that  I  am 
different  from  other  men,"  he  said,  grimly,  look 
ing  beyond  her  face  for  a  second.  Then  he  came 
back  with  a  start  to  its  pale  beauty. 

"I'm  not  worth  thinking  about,  or  troubling 
you  about,"  he  said,  thickly.  "  I  had  no  hope  of 
ever  seeing  you  again — never  of  speaking  to  you, 
surely.  This  solitude  with  you  has  unmanned 
me.  Forgive  the  intrusion  if  you  can.  You  have 
been  generosity  itself  in  listening  to  me." 


HEIES    OF    YESTERDAY         285 

"  1  am  not  generous/'  she  said,  bitterly.  "  I 
am  just  a  moral  prig." 

The  gleam  of  a  tender  smile  shot  into  his  eyes. 
"You  are  an  idealist,"  he  began,  gently.  "All 
this  apart,  I  could  never  reach  the  sky-line  of  your 
requirements,  although  I  can  look  up  to  it  as  other 
men  look  up  to  their  heaven."  He  paused,  his 
eyes  lingering  upon  her;  then  he  continued  softly, 
"  I  have  heard — have  seen — much  argument — but 
you — you  are  the  only  argument  I  know  which 
makes  me  ready  to  stand  by  that  for  which  you 
are  the  loyal — my  only — torch-bearer.  I  have 
even  thought  that  perhaps  the  ancient  tyranny 
which  still  constrains  us  has  endured — was  only 
love-in-wisdom  having  you  in  design.  Ah,  you  see, 
I  cannot  help  myself — you  have  become  my 
religion — if  you  are  Jewish,  must  I  not  too  be 
Jew?" 

He  tried  to  smile  away  his  loss  of  control.  But 
his  hand  groped  toward  her,  only  stopping, 
through  force  of  memory,  before  it  touched  her. 

"  Does  it  pain  you  very  much  to  know  I  love 
you?  "  he  asked,  quietly. 

The  voices  of  evening  seemed  suddenly  hushed, 
awaiting  her  answer.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

They  walked  on  together  over  the  hill. 


286         HEIRS     OF    YESTERDAY 


In  all  beautifully  risen  San  Francisco  there  is 
no  prettier  view  than  where  she,  sitting  on  her 
western  hills,  the  sun  in  her  eyes,  gazes  over  the 
silvery  waters  of  the  hay  curving  out  to  meet  the 
Golden  Gate.  In  all  her  history,  never  did  the 
meeting  waters  seem  more  fraught  with  meaning, 
and  power,  and  high  emprise,  than  toward  five 
o'clock  of  the  afternoon  of  May  25,  1898.  For 
hours,  the  crowds  here  on  the  heights,  on  balconies, 
on  housetops,  as  on  the  lower  water  front,  had 
stood  patient,  breathless,  many  thus  keeping  silent 
tryst  with  those  whose  ship  they  had  promised  to 
watch  till  it  should  sink  beyond  the  line  of 
vision. 

Just  at  five  the  signal  came  in  the  booming  and 
banging  of  guns,  the  mad  shrieking  of  whistles, 
the  clang  and  clamor  of  bells.  It  brought  the 
heart  of  the  city  to  its  throat  in  a  prolonged  sob 
bing,  deafening  cheer.  Around  the  cove  came  the 
gay  dancing  flotilla,  resplendent  in  fluttering 
bunting  and  flags  and  pennants,  in  the  midst  of 
which,  black  with  humanity  and  war-paint, 
proudly  breasting  wind  and  billows,  rode  the 
pioneer  fleet  of  invasion — the  City  of  Peking  in  the 
lead,  closely  followed  by  the  Australia  and  City 


HEIRS    OF    YESTERDAY         287 

of  Sidney.  It  was  the  Peking,  however,  which 
carried  the  California  First,  and  most  of  the  watch 
ing  eyes  grew  dim  following  her.  Past  volleying 
Alcatraz  sped  the  inspiring  pageant,  past  Fort 
Mason  and  the  downs,  past  the  white  city  of  tents 
and  the  Presidio  sending  soldierly  farewell,  past 
the  old  fort,  out  through  the  open  Gate,  and  so 
straight  into  the  sunset.  The  sun,  shot  down  in 
a  silver  vapor.  The  vanishing  ships  were  figures 
of  mist. 

In  the  press  of  the  crowd  near  the  mansion 
which  lifts  its  terra-cotta  heauty  to  the  blue  jewel 
above,  two  school-girls,  standing  hand  in  hand', 
began  softly  singing  'the  Battle  Hymn .  of  the 
Republic. 

An  old  gentleman  standing  near  reverently 
raised  his  hat.  The  girl  beside  him  stood  gazing 
after  the  mist-shapes — that  look  of  yearning  in 
her  face  which  seeing  eyes  call  prayer. 


By    EMMA    WOLF 


Other  Things  Being  Equal 

J2mo.    275  Pages,    Price,  $J.OO 

It  is  a  romance,  pure  and  simple,  and  has  the  rare  merit  of 
artistic  unity.  .  .  .  It  is  a  relief  to  find  an  unspoiled  story  of  pure 
sentiment,  without  sensationalism,  mawkish  sentimentality,  affected 
eccentricity,  or  the  least  sign  of  pandering  to  the  too  popular  com 
promise  with  immorality.—  The  Boston  Post, 

The  lessen  derived  from  this  story  is,  that  other  things  being 
equal,— that  is,  every  other  consideration  being  favorable,— a  Jewish 
girl  may  marry  a  Christian,  the  difference  in  their  religious  faith 
not  being  an  insuperable  barrier  to  their  union.  .  .  .  The  book 
presents  a  beautiful  picture  of  the  peace,  the  pure  morality,  and 
the  domestic  tranquillity  and  joy  which  the  author  affirms  almost 
universally  pervade  Jewish  homes.— Home  Journal^  New  York. 

This  book  is  notable  as  a  sign  of  the  times.  .  .  .  We  welcome 
it  as  a  message  of  peace  and  goodwill.—  The  Chicago  Tribune. 


The  Joy  of  Life 

J2mo.    253  Pages.    Price,  $J.OO 

The  book  is  a  strong  contrast  of  life  from  two  points  of  view. 
One  brother  sees  that  everything  is  to  be  gained  through  money ; 
therefore  he  shuts  himself  off  from  everything  but  money  and  the 
influence  of  money.  Another  brother  views  life  from  the  humani 
tarian  standpoint,  and  totally  abstains  from  money  and  money 
influences.  The  two  extremes  are  so  subtly  worked  out  that  the 
book  is  well  worth  the  reading.—  The  Sentinel,  Indianapolis. 

It  is  occasionally  the  reviewer's  good  fortune  to  find  an  un 
heralded  good  book,  and  when  such  a  rare  circumstance  occurs, 
there  is  no  reader  who  takes  more  pleasure  in  turning  over  the  mod 
est  pages  of  the  volume.— Kansas  City  World. 


For  sale  by  booksellers  generally,  or  will  be  sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt 
of  price  by  the  publishers. 

A.  C  McCLURG  &  CO.,  Chicago 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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